


Gold and Silver

by Ninui_Ithil



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Friendship, M/M, Male Slash, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-04-28 14:30:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5094158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninui_Ithil/pseuds/Ninui_Ithil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story following the growing relationship between two immortals fated to be by the Valar themselves, but will they be brave enough to accept this love and risk heartache? Legolas/Elrohir slash</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mae Govannen 1: In Love and War

A.N: I would like to take the time to state that this story, though based on canon from the stories of J.R.R. Tolkien, does stray loosely on some themes to allow artistic freedom. This includes Slash. It is rated M. If this is not to your liking, I respect your opinion, but advise that you do not read the series.

I own nothing, and am only grateful to have been inspired by the histories of Middle Earth, Valinor, and its peoples.  
Without further ado, enjoy!

oOoOoOoOo

T.A. 235, Eryn Galen, Laer.

Eryn Galen was unusually quiet. No birdsong could be heard for miles, even to the acute senses of Edhil ears. The small party passed as shadows through the trees; their very footfalls inaudible; their breathing hardly disturbing the air around them. Hoods enshrouding their faces in a mask of darkness; they slipped through the many trees imperceptibly.

They carried on thusly for what seemed hours, but in reality was only a matter of minutes. The sharp snapping sound of a twig could be heard to echo throughout the woods, and within seconds the party were at the ready for battle; arrows fitted to bows and swords at the ready.

At the signal their arrows flew; bows singing as one. All hit their marks; and, in synchrony developed over centuries of practice, the hunters descended to the floor below; swords drawn and knives glinting in the afternoon sun. The clash of metal broke the silence as the elves erupted into the fray of orcs below; the orc numbers already vastly lessened by the fire of arrows. But still the enemy outnumbered the elves, and the battle would be perilous.

And so it began. The Edhil warriors were by far the more skilled; their dangerously fragile and ethereal appearances belying and hiding their immense strength and agility. Ducking and weaving; thrusting and parrying; the fighting continued with neither side seeming to gain any advantage.

Within the chaos, two warriors fought side by side; back to back; neither one moving away from the other for more than a few moments at a time. Their hoods thrown back in the frantic battle; their dark hair tinged red with blood; their faces a mask of determination and pure disgust they were a beacon of hope in the otherwise desolate circumstances.  
They moved with such harmonious ability that their technique could be compared to dancing; their movements at once sharp and dangerous, yet smooth and elegant. They cut through the orcs as if they were no more than children, and soon a litter of bodies lay around the pair.

Though however able they were to defend themselves; against such a huge enemy their hope seemed to dwindle and fade. Yet they fought on, even should death have been the end result the Edhil would have died honourably, died triumphant. And so the powered on; desperate thrusts and determined blocks they were a force to be reckoned with.

So it continued, with the number of elves growing slimmer with every passing moment. Defeat seemed imminent, yet still they battled on viciously: defying death itself. Just as the last rays of sun disappeared below the trees, seeming to take any hope the Edhil had with it, arrows pierced the air; each embedding in the neck of an unsuspecting orc. In the stunned stillness that followed the attackers leapt deftly down from their perches into the battle raging below.

A renewed hope coursed through the veins of all the Edhil, and with a last reserve of strength they had not realised they had the battle recommenced. Glints of golden hair from the Wood Elves now could be seen among the warriors; interspersing the darker locks. Both sun and moon fought continuously on; two separate kingdoms united against a common foe.

Eventually the orcs were all dispatched; their harsh, guttural cries dying in their throats to be forever silenced. The first born looked upon the scene with satisfaction mingled with regret. Adrenaline flowed through the veins of all survivors; and the injured were swiftly treated as best as was possible.

Solemnly, the bodies were separated. It was with heavy hearts that the elves were laid to rest in the shallow graves they had dug; and with disgust that the carcasses of their enemies were set aflame. Heads bowed in sorrow; the elves set up camp.

Initially the elves were divided: wood elves camped together and the elves from the hidden vale stayed in their own company. But these differences were set aside in light of the battle.

The elves looked on in ill-disguised intrigue as the leaders discussed the battle; and a temporary treaty. Though having little differences other than hair and eye colour; their differences could be found within. All Elves were slim built; with their fragile and delicate appearances belying the strength lying within their slight yet muscular frames. Their hair reflected the pale light of the moon overhead, giving a luminescent glow to the clearing. The Wood Elves of Greenwood and Noldor Elves of Rivendell had not encountered each other in several centuries, and their ill at ease with each other was apparent to the eyes of any creature.

"Amras. On behalf of my people, I extend my thanks towards you." Declared Glorfindel, clearly uneasy and overly formal with one whom he used to consider a friend.

"Why so formal, mellon?" Amras replied, though the answer was obvious. When no reply greeted his inquiry, Amras felt his heart sink. It was true; there had been a rift between their peoples for many a century, but he had not expected it to extend to their long friendship.

Pushing down any lingering embarrassment he might have felt at so cold a greeting, Amras continued "We will always be of service to you. You may stay here as long as you wish, or if you would prefer accompany us to our home, as I asume you are short supplied having ventured this far from the Misty Mountains. The decision is yours." And with that Amras left, his back silhouetted in the pale moonlight. Yet another casualty of a war much varied from the violent battle they had just engaged in.

Glorfindel shook his head sadly. It was wrong of him to treat Amras so, but he could not so easily return the cordial sentiments of his former friend. His thoughts drifted not for the first time that day to a happier time; when the first born were not separated by doubt and mistrust; but where friendships could grow and encompass all in the comfort they offered. He was not alone in wish this feud over, but like so many others seemed powerless to end it.

The elves of Rivendell decided that it would be wisest to accompany the wood elves to their homes since supplies were running low. With this decided the elves recalled their steeds and mounted them bareback; with no need of any harness to control the free creatures, and embarked upon the journey to the isolated forrest kingdom.

Amras took up the front as leader of the wood elves, closely followed by Glorfindel. The ride back was uncomfortable and not just a little awkward for the two. Amras attempted a few stuttered sentences at increasing intervals; but cut off before finishing any sentences of making any distinct sense. With the two unwilling to converse freely, the feeling soon passed through the ranks and by sundown when they again made camp the entire party were silent.

Darkness soon fell upon the wood; chasing away the last beams of light. It was then, as they made camp that the Rivendell elves noticed the increased density of the overhead forrest. With no moonlight able to penetrate the dense trees, the elves slept on wearily through the night.

Dawn was hardly recognisable, and only the elves innate body clock awoke them. They rose slowly, obviously having suffered from disturbed and troubled sleep; the inease between the two realms seeping into their dreams and tainting them. Streams of sunlight filtered through the branches above, streaking the floor and allowing only minimal light to travel by.

Though not as refreshed as was their wont, they set out again none the less, unwilling to tarry in such suffocating conditions. This distressed the horses from the Hidden Vale, who were unaccustomed to such enclosure and unwilling to travel through the darkness. Only the soothing word of their riders convinced the horses to tread through it; and even then at a slow pace. They were, however, compelled to take many rests of longer duration than normal, ever mindful of the injured Elves and tired horses they did not wish to worsen their conditions by means of over exertion. Yet again the extremely long enduring elves carried on steadily until sunset, when the encroaching nightfall forced them one final time to take rest beneath the dense foliage.

"It is unfair that only your people take watch. Allow us to help you, in repayment for your services in battle." Glorfindel suggested to the woodland captain, having sought his company just moments earlier. Amras stood, shocked, routed to the spot. What could have been mistaken for fire flashed through his eyes, in what could only be described as the feeling of betrayal.

"You owe us nothing. We do not wish for your assistance simply to repay a debt you feel you have. The orcs are as much our enemy as they are yours, and as such you are under no obligations." He said as calmly as possible, though his voice held a faint and unusual tremor and his fists balled tightly at his sides. How foolish of him to have hoped that Glorfindel's offer of aid and companionship would be made not from a sense of duty, but as a friend. He was smote anew to have his hopes dashed a second time in as many days.

As Amras turned on his heel to leave, Glorfindel surprised the both of them by reaching out and holding him back. "I did not mean to cause offence. We merely wish to help in any way we can; after all you have given us so much." He pleaded; his pale blue eyes seeking out those of Amras.

"As you wish. It is a kind offer; and would be greatly appreciated." Amras replied icily, finally shrugging himself free of Glorfindel's hold with a decisive yet restrained movement.

And so it was. The Noldor and Wood Elves shared the watch between themselves evenly. It was in the mist of these watches that two pairs of eyes locked: stormy grey meeting with clear blue across the battle field.

oOo

Glossary:

Eryn Galen – Green wood  
Edhil – Elves  
Ithil – Moon  
Anor – Sun  
Mellon – friend


	2. Mae Govannen 2: Ernil Daur

Legolas was inexplicably drawn to those eyes; harsh as the storm yet soft as the clouds. They sparkled with energy and wit even in such tiring conditions; and the world seemed to halt. But the moment passed as quickly as it had occurred; leaving Legolas to shake his head clear of those mysterious eyes.

Camp activity buzzed around them; lighting the fire from dead wood found on the forest floor and merry talk passing the time. Legolas took up his position in the branches of a great tree; as he was first on watch duty. Sitting idly he glanced into the distance, one leg hanging and the other bent upon which his elbow rested.

And so the hours passed; with Legolas rarely moving. His thoughts wandered to recent events; his homeland which they were nearing; and yet in the back of his mind he was constantly aware of everything happening around him.

No sooner had he sensed another presence approaching than he was tapped gently on the shoulder. Startled; he turned to face whoever it was that had surprised him so and found himself looking into the same mysterious eyes as before.

No. They weren't the same eyes; but remarkably similar. Gathering his thoughts; Legolas thanked whoever it was that had relieved him and in one swift action swung down onto the branch below.

And with that he was gone; swiftly finding a place near the dying fire to lie and sleep. He lay on his back, with no need of a blanket to protect him from the elements; as was usual considering his Elven heritage.

Entering dreamscape of sleep; his thoughts blurred into one: confused; without order or any seeming connection or relation. But throughout the dreams one face recurrently appeared; one pair of eyes. And they haunted him.

o0o

The trees eventually began to clear and form a narrow path; so dark and shrouded in shadow from the low trees above that it more resembled a tunnel than a forest path. The Imladris horses warily followed the path; ears back and the soft, gentle encouragement of their riders stirring them onwards. The Sindarin horses, however, were much more forward going and at ease within the dense canopy of trees; showing their familiarity with the surroundings and deep trust of their mounts.

And thusly they continued, the party from the Hidden Vale glancing curiously around them. The trees were of the deepest green, and though the foliage cast a shadow upon the path the sunlight was seen to filter through in streams; and dapple the path. The light of Anor shining through the leaves made them shimmer and intensified the green so that it was breathtakingly luminous and healthy looking. The forest around them stirred with a life of its own; the birds singing and the breeze whispering; a life that the Wood Elves of Taur Galen were very much a part of.

This connection was impossible to describe; best likened to a string linking the forest with the Wood Elves. This string gently fluxuated and strummed; fading into the background of the Edhil senses but always perceptible. Of course all Firstborn share a connection with nature; but this connection was stronger in the more elemental, primitive Elves of Greenwood the Great. Their spirits unharnessed because of their separation from other Elven communities; their primitive senses un-dulled because there was no surety of protection given by the Three Rings; their natural intuition not second guessed by years of study and learning. No, these Elves retained all that was natural by way of their seclusion.

Whereas the Elves hailing from Imladris were well-learned; less in tune with the forests because of their detachment from them; but none the less were indeed greeted warmly by the wood. These two Elven parties were completely opposite; and yet the connected; like the two sides of a coin. Both could learn from the other; simply following different ways of living enforced by centuries of habit.

Deeper they delved into the forest; following the narrow path. It was impossible to tell exactly when the Rivendell Elves became aware of the hidden scouts surrounding them; as it seemed to be a consciousness that crept up on them and gradually took hold. It was more the implacable Elven sense than an actually physical disturbance. As they scanned the trees with fascination; they were amazed to find that they could not spot any of the elves; though they knew them to be there. Even the trackers amongst the party were astounded by the stealth of the Wood Elves as they avoided detection.

o0o

T.A. 235, Úrui, Eryn Galen

"My greetings to you; Elrondians." The King of Eryn Galen greeted the group hailing from Imladris somewhat haughtily; his displeasure at their impromtu arrival barely concealed behind his diplomatic front.

The Elves stood now in a great hall at the centre of the hidden palace. Light flowed in through the open windows; and looking past the many leaves of the tree branches you could see for miles, the stretching forest laying beneath you like a giant canvas of green to any but the Elven eyes staring out at it.

The settlement of Las Galan was intricately built into many trees; with the main palace intricately supported by the largest, central tree. The many trees were connected with thin; winding bridges similar to that of Lothlórien if not for the fact that they were camouflaged; nestled within the branches. And so there were the lodgings of Taur Galan; with the royalty and nobleman living in the second and third storeys of the halls; the Great Banquet hall; the kitchens; the universal washing rooms; the armoury; and the wine cellar on the ground storey of the main tree; and the private living quarters within the many trees connected.

Moving past this large residence one found that the training field lay in a central clearing north the main palace; leading out from the armoury. And to the south of the main palace lay the somewhat tamed public gardens: The main feature of which was the natural lake. Here the water shimmered a cool aqua and was still.

"May I ask what brings you to our forest domain?" Thranduil continued; imploring a worthwhile response from the unexpected visitors.

Gasps were heard as two as of yet unseen warriors stepped forward, lowering their hoods and revealing their identities to the crowd. Though none had seen them in person, there was no denying that these same two were the Peredhil twins: Elladan and Elrohir. Their untamed obsidian manes fell upon shoulders broader than was normal for the First Born; their limbs, though refined and graceful, lacked the litheness and were of a more muscular composition; their tall frames and sculpted features denied the ethereal nature of their Elven side, giving proof that the blood of men did indeed also course through their veins. These were the sons of Elrond, Lord of Imladris, and his Lady Celebrían. 

"Upon our recent hunting expedition; we ran afoul of the orcs and were saved by the timely arrival of your elves. Many of our supplies were lost in the battle; and we come in hope of replenishment and rest for our soldiers." Replied Elladan; meeting the icy blue gaze of King Thranduil with his own determined, stormy gaze. The elder of the twins, Elladan was oftentimes the more forthcoming; the gentler and more agreeable of the two. By comparison the younger twin; Elrohir, was usually the less forth coming; the more negotiable; and though slow to anger, once kindled his wrath was terrifying to behold. 

“Indeed you were fortunate. But, may I ask, what lead you to wander so far from home and into our Woodland Kingdom without invitation?” Thranduil proceeded, his own lingering mistrust from the last war curtailed only by the rather disheveled appearance of the elved before him; lending and honesty to their story.

“We can asure your Highness that it was never our intention to venture beyond your borders.” This time it was Elrohir who spoke. “We, ourselves, were on private business east of the Misty Mountains when Word reached us of the pain and suffering caused by this band of orcs. We felt it our duty to put and end to it, and as such took up persuit which lead us to your forrest. We will admit, we considered giving up the hunt once we discovered that they had ventured into your territory; but felt it irresponsable to turn a blind eye to the devestation they would undoubtedly cause, perhaps even to your own people” 

He held the gaze of Thranduil; gently daring him to refuse them these basic living necessities in light of their endeavour. With a weary sigh, Thranduil brought a hand up to his face and, bringing it down before his eyes, with a nod he acquiesced to their request. "Legolas." He whispered to the advisor beside him; who – bowing slightly to his King – left to fetch the mysterious Legolas.

"I extend my thanks to you, sons of Elrond, for your vigilence.” The Elvenking acceeded, his ire dampened by their admission. “You and your warriors are free to stay here as long as you require to replenish your supplies and rest. You may explore as you wish; and I shall have my son escort you all to your housing." He spoke regally; making it clear they were grudgingly welcomed as guests into his homeland; and were to stay and make use of any facilities.

Bowing slightly, the brethren extended their thanks to the King. "Many thanks, good King." Elladan offered as reply to his gracious invitation. Elladan; the older twin; was equally exuberant as Elrohir; and though less negotiable was the more likely to hold his tongue in matters of diplomacy. The words had not long left his lips when the Great Hall became almost silent. Turning to seek out the source of the quiet; the brethren found their eyes drawn to the figure entering.

The creature had long locks of interlocking gold and silver and blonde; his hair shining in the sun streaming through the many windows of the hall. His very skin, seemingly alabaster, glimmered with the sheath of health and exuberance; exuding life. His high cheekbones and strong jaw complimented his regal nose; lending an undeniably masculinity. Yet the softness of his face was obviously not from his father; something inherited from his mother. He was undeniably masculine; yet beautiful and enchanting all the same.

His tall frame was slender and graceful; his very movements singular; yet the seemingly slender frame belied the toned muscles of a warrior; of an archer. He was a creature of perilous beauty which could ensnare the desire of any lucky enough to cross his path.

Shining out from under his delicately arched eyebrows were orbs of the softest blue; as calm and bright as a summer day. Sparkling in the depths of those eyes lay intelligence; exuberance; playfulness; a lust for life; freedom; wildness; nature; loyalty and – most surprising for any Edhil still in their first century of life – an ancient wisdom. He was a creature of perilous beauty which could ensnare the desire of any lucky enough to cross his path.

Elrohir found himself looking into those eyes; those same eyes as he had crossed in the camp. His gaze never leaving this creature; he was pleased yet not surprised when he approached the King. "May I introduce you to my son; Legolas." Thranduil exclaimed; pride emanating and warming his previously cool voice. Elrohir nodded; as if expecting it to be the case. The features of Legolas were noble and shared similarity with those of his father; and the way he carried himself bespoke of his royal birth.

Legolas. Elrohir rolled the name around his mouth; liking the way it rang like silver bells within the very confines of his mind. Legolas. Greenleaf. It was fitting for a prince of the forest realm. Elrohir eyed him with veiled curiosity; wanting very much to become better acquainted with him; and feeling a plan beginning to form.

Noting his brother's interest and recognising the ticking of his mind as a plan formed, Elladan greeted the prince on behalf of them both. "It is an honour; Ernilen." Elladan greeted the prince; as both he and Elrohir bowed in simultaneous motions.

Seemingly pleased with the diplomacy; Thranduil took his leave. "I trust you will be happy within my realm. Please; anything you need feel free to ask of my son." He stated; his voice taking on a tone of contentment and pride in the presence of his son. Elrohir shook his head imperceptibly as Thranduil exited; making a mental note to keep Legolas nearby whenever in the company of the King; as his youngest son obviously melted his otherwise cold reserve when around the Peredhil twins.

His attention; however; was quickly returned to Legolas. He was comely and seemed to glow with vibrancy. A smile breaking out across his face; Elrohir quickly decided that in Legolas they had found a friend unparalleled to any other.

"So, Ernil Daur…" He began; however was quickly interrupted.

"Legolas; please. There is no need for such formality around me." He modestly corrected. A smile once again quirked Elrohir's mouth up, and with a glance at Elladan he was sure that they had indeed found in this young prince a friend for life.

Glossary:

Úrui – August (Sindarin)  
Ernilen – My Prince  
Ernil Daur – Forest Prince  
Peredhil – Half Elven (Plural)


	3. Mae Govannen 3: Summer Days

T.A. 235, Úrui, Eryn Galen

Laughter like silver bells rang through the glades of Eryn Galen; emanating as usual from the Gwenyn of Imladris as they sat with Legolas. In Legolas; they had found not only an able guide willing to show them all the wonders of the magnificent woodland; but also a companion to share them with. And so they sat; each content in the present company; yet not totally relaxed. But a few days had passed since the troop from Imladris had arrived; and already plans were being made to leave the Woodland realm within the week.

This weighed heavily upon the minds of all three; and they were reluctant to part. Though they had known each other for the shortest period of time; they had already made firm friendships. Their similarity of circumstances allowed for an ease often missing with others, the expectations hoisted upon the three as offspring of Lords and Kings was difficult to comprehend, and no degree of empathy could suffice. 

Legolas turned his eyes to inspect the twin sons of Elrond. Fair of face they were, with chiseled chins, high cheekbones and sumptuous lips. In their eyes lay the main difference. While both had eyes of Grey, those of Elladan were tinged with blue: as the blue sky permeates the grey clouds on a summer day. But stormy and tempestuous were the eyes of Elrohir, grey turned silver that would envelope the clouds and precipitate the thunder and lightning.

But the day was still young, and so the three newly formed companions did not waste a single minute. They would spend the day absorbing the spirit of the forrest, rejoicing in its warm and heartening reception. Running with exuberant joy through the glades, climbing the trees and delighting in the shared company. They felt truly blessed to have been granted such an unlooked for gift as the friendship freely offered and gladly accepted.

The prospect of many years apart was a daunting and unwelcome one. But Elrohir still had a plan in mind; and if they must be parted then he was adamant that said parting should be eventful and memorable.

Smiling in contemplation of the turn his thoughts had taken; Elrohir's far away gaze was not missed on his brother; or indeed their new found friend. Sharing a knowing smile with their woodland friend; Elladan was the one to comment upon said look.

"What in arda are you planning, tor nîn – my brother ?" Elladan's words broke Elrohir's reverie; and he came back to reality with a start. His smile did not slip as he replied to his brothers' question.

"Why, Gwaniuar" – older twin – "nothing. I was merely reflecting upon the beauty of this woodland realm." He slipped in easily, causing Legolas to beam with pleasure at such praise of his home; the initial enquiry completely forgotten.

His brother, however, was harder to side step. But reflecting that some things were best left unsaid and knowing now not to be the time to corner his brother on the matter; Elladan also let the topic slide and was content to simply enjoy the moment.

o0o

"Ada" – papa – "Where is Las?" Asked Findecáno of his father. Thranduil's youngest looked up at his father earnestly; his green eyes inherited from his mother openly inquisitive. 

Smiling down at his son with tenderness reserved for family; the King told his young charge "Follow the sounds of merriment and laughter; and you shall find Legolas in the presence of the Gwenyn hailing from Imladris."

The youngest Prince was gone a moment later; a retreating back of chocolate hair rapidly vanishing from sight. With a smile; Thranduil took the time – as he did increasingly frequently – to thank the Valar for the children blessed to him; and heave a melancholy sigh as the bittersweet remembrances of his late wife were swept to the forefront of his mind once again.

'She would be so proud' he thought to himself; and though it was little consolation for the loss it at least offered his heart some light relief from the pain and grief omnipresent; ever lurking, threatening to overtake him were it not for his beloved family and kingdom.

The fates had indeed been kind to this King; and he knew as much. But no amount of joy could ever hope to replace his true love; his Órelindë. His smile faded. It had but been a score of years since her death; and yet he still felt it as keenly as he had that first day; as he held her in his arms; watching the light vanish from her eyes; feeling her body become cold within his arms; sensing the long and brutal separation that was to come. It felt as if millennia had passed since that day; but they had brought no peace to his broken heart; no balm to his painful soul. With such thoughts threatening to overtake him; the King quickly shook his head and rose from his seat; deciding that his duties needed to be addressed. And so he left his banquet halls and headed for the Throne room, hoping to leave such despondent thoughts behind him. He hoped in vain.

o0o

"Las!"

The Gwenyn turned in time to see a small bundle leap onto his startled brother with a sharp and excitable exclamation. With smiles playing at their lips they watched in amusement as said bundle knocked his older brother to the floor; landing heavily atop him and forcing his breath out quickly.

Laughing silently; they helped the pair to their feet. Findecáno had an immutable energy and sense of mischief; which was of course healthily endorsed by his favourite brother.

"Las, why did you leave me?" He asked in a small, almost broken voice. Though now 20; the elves of course aged slowest of all Free Peoples of Middle Earth; and the young Elfling stood before the three friends had not yet mastered his brothers' name; instead calling him by the affectionate "Las".

Seeing that an apology was due if any hope of keeping the peace remained; Legolas bent down upon one knee so that he was level with his younger brother.

"We were simply enjoying a picnic; and did not wish to wake you. Come, cheer up tor neth – young brother - and sit with us." The look of hurt slowly ebbed from the child's eyes, to be replaced by a look of joy at being invited to join their picnic. Without further ado; he took his place – next to his favourite brother, of course – and helped himself to multiple pastry delights and other such food.

Smiling indulgently at his younger brother, Legolas smiled in wistful reminiscence. 'So very alike my mother.' He thought; reflecting the previous contemplations of his own father. The hair and eyes indeed could not be mistaken; so similar did they seem to their late mother, who had died during childbirth of Findecáno, giving her own life that her son may live. Having him so near was a blessing and a curse, for though he had a character entirely of his own, his image so resembled his mothers' that it was enough to take the breath away from Legolas.

He too sought to dispel such melancholy thoughts; instead focusing upon the beauty of the day; and the pleasant company with which he whiled away the hours. And so they sat; Thranduil's two youngest sons with Elrond's only twins; enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun as it warmed the clearing.

Glossary:

Eryn Galen – Green Wood  
Úrui - August  
Eryn Galen – Greenwood the Great


	4. Mae Govannen 4: Parting

However they may wish to prolong their stay at the mercurial Woodland realm; the time soon came for the departure of the Rivendell troop; much to their displeasure. After so long a sundering; it had been lively and enchanting to see again – or, for many, for the first time – the dwellings of the Sindarin Elves. As beauteous and cultured as The Hidden Vale was; it pained them to leave the natural beauty and splendour of Las Galen for the long ride back to their homeland. Such thoughts, though not entirely shared by the Woodland Realm; did occur to the King, who took pleasure in the sight of his golden son enjoying their company; free from the usual restraints of rank and appearance, he had no need to temper his true self and could, at long last, be himself.

But come did the day when they would once again be sundered, although this time would hopefully prove to be less indefinite. Strong friendships had been forged by many; and the separation was only to be endured by constant reassurances of regular visits and meetings between friends.

One elf, however, did look upon the scene unmoved. Thranduil's eldest – and therefore heir to the throne –had met none that had struck any such friendship with him, and as such cared little for the leaving of the troop. It was not that he was unsociable, or uncaring – though his emotions seemed not to run as deeply as his two younger brothers – but that he had been trained as an Elfling to prioritise his responsibilities over all else, else how could he successfully manage an entire Kingdom?

Thranduil could do naught but sigh exasperatedly and shake his head. Too long had the crown prince held himself aloof, he thought. For such was Lenwë's disposition that he would willingly forego the company of others; often working late into the night studying; researching; improving. To be determined is one thing, and to be so absorbed by that is a road to loneliness.

And yet it had not always been the case. Though not as outgoing as his other siblings; Lenwë had once been keeper of a close circle of friends with whom he would spend his time. But as time passed – and Thranduil was not entirely certain when he became aware of this – his duties as heir to the throne had dulled his youthful companionship; with the responsibilities of running a Kingdom instead becoming his priority. So it had been since; and for this Thranduil would always blame himself. Perhaps if he hadn't pushed his son so hard; or maybe if he had noticed his increasing isolation sooner. But such thoughts are useless; and hardly in keeping with the merry – if poignant – spirit of the Woodland Realm.

oOo

Meanwhile, plots were being devised and belongings packed before the long trek home to Rivendell. The stay had been a peaceful one; where friends had been made and peace had been established between long sundered realms. It truly was a fated accident; and Elrohir thought as much while awaiting the arrival of his twin.

He heard light footsteps approaching the door; and with a smile on his face slung his travel bag over his shoulder, stepping out of their shared room to meet his brother.

"The powder?" He inquired, surreptitious glances assuring there was no-one within hearing range. Elladan smiled in response; pointing to his own bag. A fleeting laugh and clap on the back were exchanged for a plan – if simple – well thought through. Now all that remained was to put it into action.

oOo

Findecáno waited behind the many oak trees of the Greenwood; crouched in an innocent readiness to pounce upon his unsuspecting victims. He waited for what seemed like hours to his young legs; and when they eventually grew tired he gave up and instead sat cross legged, huffing his annoyance.

No longer had he let down his guard than there he was enveloped in a tight embrace from behind; lifted up into the arms of his stealthy brother with a small shriek of surprise and excitement.

"No fair, Las." He said, crossing his arms over his body in annoyance and stomping his foot. "I was supposed to surprise you this time!" His little voice laced with irritation and a pout formed upon his face. It was something he could not maintain for long, however. He never could hold a grudge against his favourite brother, even for something as terrible as stealing his thunder.

No sooner had a smile broken out upon Findecáno's face; than he was immediately swept up into the air again; another small shriek breaking the silence. This time; he was not held in his brother's strong arms; but in those of Elladan.

"Aagh, 'Lladan put me down!" He screamed, kicking his legs and balling his small hands into fists; giggling all the while. With a long suffering sigh; Elladan shrugged his shoulders in consent and, again, the Elfling was able to stand upon his own two feet.

"That was a nasty trick, 'Lladan." He scolded, and Elladan had the good grace – or perhaps common sense considering Findecáno's stubborn nature – to put on the mock appearance of shame, casting his eyes to the floor and shrugging his shoulders.

"Oh please, don't hurt him! We come in peace; my buffoon of a brother knows not what he does!" Elrohir appeared around the trees; and fell dramatically to his knees; begging for forgiveness from the scary Elf child. Elladan followed suit; and Findecáno began to giggle at their antics.

With a long suffering sigh and an eye roll; Legolas reached down and brought the twins to their feet. "Just make it the last time; our Elf Lord does not tolerate unexpected attacks!" He uttered in mock seriousness; joining in the charade.

And so they passed the few hours they had left in each other's company; with much merriment and laughter and childish antics.

oOo

"'Rohir, do you and 'Lladan really have to go?" asked a small voice, eyes downcast, and heart heavy, unknowingly uttering the very sentiments that took hold of his older brother. 

With a sigh, Elrohir sat up, looking sympathetically at the youngest prince.

"You know we must, Cunneth. Ada awaits us at home, and if we stay much longer I fear we will lose all will to leave at all." His voice was sincere, but still could not balm the youngling's hurt at the thought of their leaving.

In just that one short exchange, the atmosphere changed. The wind picked up; cold and strong; the sun was covered by cloud and the very trees themselves seemed hurt; swaying and moaning in the wind as though sensing the overlong separation and sadness it would inflict.

And so they lay there; no longer enjoying the ease that comes with a natural friendship and understanding; but instead drinking in the last moments of each other's company and contemplating the return to normality. It had seemed so distant these past weeks; like a lonely lifetime past.

And though the wind was bitterly cold for the autumn and the sun had set; they made no effort to move. Their Elven endurance was enough to see them through, and when Findecáno began to shiver Legolas sat up to cradle him in his arms; wrapping him in his own warmth and keeping the chill at bay.

Elrohir's eyes moved to study Legolas; and he could see the same look of hurt in those cerulean orbs. Feeling that he was being watched; Legolas raised his head to meet Elrohir's stare. And again eyes as grey as the storm met those of clearest skies. They held the glance; and each found comfort to ease the parting they would soon face.

oOo

Dawn light found its way through the dense enclosure of Taur Galen; and as the sun rose high in the sky the contingent of Elves hailing from Imladris sat above their noble steeds; ready to begin the journey back to their own homes.

All, that was, except certain raved haired twins. Glances were exchanged and looks of bemusement coloured faces: it was unlike the Gwenyn to be late. The court officials and Royal family of Eryn Galen stood in the morning light; seemingly as perplexed as everyone else. Even Legolas must claim his ignorance in this matter; and so they continued to wait on diminishing patience.

Eventually the tardy pair arrived; smiles sketched upon their faces and a gleam in their eyes. Legolas cocked one elegant eyebrow: whatever delayed these two bode ill for someone, he was sure. Seeing the suspicion written upon their friend's face; the smiles of Elladan and Elrohir erupted into large grins; flashing pearly teeth in a look of feigned innocence. This only served to make Legolas nervous; sure now that whatever delayed the twins was best left unknown.

While Elladan continued to smile demonically; Elrohir went so far as to wink at Legolas; and the Prince of the Woodland Realm was sure he could feel a headache beginning to form.

"Do not worry, Malthernil. There is no possible way they could suspect you for this." Elrohir whispered in Legolas' ear while making a final goodbye. This was less than comforting; and the look upon Legolas' face read as much. With a smirk, Elrohir pulled the prince into a tight embrace, and no words were necessary to convey the love he held for his new friend.

The Brethren quickly and agilely mounted their waiting horses; just as voices could be heard approaching the clearing. With a glance at each other, the Gwenyn hurriedly encouraged their horses into a canter; signalling for their company to follow. The reason soon became apparent; as the kitchen staff entered the clearing – knives and ladles in hands – screaming murderously at the retreating backs. It seemed the twins had seen fit to gift the staff with a leaving present shortly before their departure in the form of itching poder that had quite undone the normal reserve of their Woodland hosts. How they had managed to affect all the staff simultaneously without actually being in the location was to be wondered at for many years; and Legolas knew that his headache was well deserved.

Glossary:

Gwenyn – twins  
Cunneth – princeling  
Ada – papa  
Eryn Galen – Greenwood the Great  
Malthernil – golden prince


	5. Mae Govannen 5: Warm Welcomes

T.A 235, Yávië, Imladris

The Lord and Lady of Imladris stood waiting in the courtyard, keen Elven eyes discerning the distant figures steadily approaching. A combination of uncommon nervousness and relief had taken hold of the two since border patrol had brought word of the party’s approach earlier that very morning. Scarcely had an apology been uttered to dispense the council, such was their uncharacteristic haste to welcome their return. An absence of such length was hardly noteworthy in and of itself, rather their feelings were those of concerned parents impatient of the arrival of their only sons after their first journey so far from the safety of their borders. Indeed, such a reunion could not come quickly enough if the unbecoming fiddling and wringing of hands of Elrond was any such assertion. 

“They will soon be here, my love. There is no need to worry.” 

Elrond felt his hand taken and stroked soothingly by his wife as she uttered these words of comfort, drawing his attention to his less than descreet signs of worry. He sighed softly, relieved there was no-one present to see his current state of tensión, as they would not bother the staff with the party still so distant. ‘Twas not beseeming for the Lord of the Vale, beloved as he was by all, to be in such a state of unease over so small a matter as the return of his sons! And after so short a sojourn afar! But even this rational thought was not enough to entirely slow his accelerated heart rate, or calm his racing pulse. 

The passing of time brought the figures closer, now discernable. Glorfindel could be seen at the front, leading the pack. His Golden hair behind him, stance proud and lordly, none could fail to recognise the living legend that resided in the Last Homely House. As glorious a sight to behold as the Noldor was, nothing could compare to the elation felt upon espying their sons behind. Tension that they had not been aware of was felt leaving their bodies, the anxiety and worry of allowing their children to venture forth and gain experience had bittered the otherwise sweet and just temperaments of the Rulers of Rivendell, and more than one elf was heard to jokingly wish for the prompt return of those dearest to them that would restore the peace. 

Hardly had the brethren dismounted than they were wrapped in the warm and, all-be-it, a little too tight embrace of their emotional mother. They could do little save gasp as the breath was stolen from them by so tight a hold, doubly so when their father joined the reunion. Aye, though their absence had been counted in but weeks or months rather than years it had been felt keenly for those left behind. As such strong emotions gave way, the twins were released. Elrond clasped a hand tightly on the shoulder of each of his sons, eyes glistening with emotion. Celebrían held their hands lovingly in hers, and thus the four of them stood; allowing the love they felt to brim over; offering succor and reclaiming the bonds of family. 

“Welcome home, Gwenyn.” Elrond eventually uttered.

oOo

“I must admit, I am rather surprised that you were allowed residence in the Halls of Thranduil.” Elrond stated, having listened patiently as his sons and Glorfindel had appraised himself and his wife of the events in the Greenwood.

“Even under such circumstances, it is a kindness he would not likely have offered in past times. I suspect that you are right your assumption that in fathering children he has allowed his heart to soften. Mayhap ´tis time we thought to form alliances once more with our Woodland Friends.”

Silence greeted his musings. The five ensconced in the study of Lord Elrond were not all of the same mind. Though none disagreed with their Lord, neither did they have the same faith as he that the feud between the two realms could be so easily set aside. Glorfindel and Celebrían had born witness to the separation and the tragic circumstances pertaining, and thus were in some part unsure of the success of this attempt. However difficult it may be to make ammends and gain trust, the Lord of Imladris was hopeful. A beginning had been made in the friendships that their sons held; it would therefore be a shame to risk forever losing this unlooked for opportunity by tarrying too long with doubts. The Valar move in mysterious ways, and who could know how necessary this alliance could become; not only for the sake of harmony and amiability; but to share the burden of whatever may come to pass in the future. Though they lived in an age of peace, Elrond was aware how fragile that may be; how periless is complacency. 

Elladan and Elrohir, aware of the fractious relationship between the Wood-elves and their own homeland, had been born after the great war; and as such had avoided the majority of the fallout. Ignorant they were not; but book learnings would always be secondary to first hand experience. 

However, it was not just this that persuaded the brothers that it would be beneficial to restore the alliance between the mercucial Wood-elves. A certain prince also played a part in convincing them. Though impossibly recent; the bond that they felt with Legolas was such that even the usually reserved Elrohir took up the cause vehemently, much to the surprise of the four others in the room. 

“Yes, I accept that Legolas plays a part in my willingness to put aside our differences.” Elrohir eventually admitted, after his earlier arguments to the enhancing of culture, security, loyalty and trade had been undercut by his closeness to his new found friend. 

“Just a part, gwanneth?” – younger twin – asked Elladan, two sable eyebrows rising at the insinuation. Though Elladan had also taken a liking to Thranduil´s second born, it was his wont. For Elrohir, on the other hand, it was quite unheard of that he should feel this deeply for anyone in such a short period of time.

“What would you have me say, brother?” Elrohir asked in reply. “He is pure of heart and innocent; free from malice and corruption; loyal and intelligent. In truth, I am loathe to retreat from the possibility of establishing ties that may aid our friendship.”

Silence once upon fell upon the company. It was uncommon for Elrohir to take to one as quickly as he took to Legolas, even more so that he would speak to defend so completely one not of his kin. 

Celebrían looked upon her youngest son, he reyes veiled. She suspected that something more was stirring within her sons heart, yet how far beyond the realms of friendship she could not know. Perhaps this prince would be closest of all allies to her Elf-Knight?

Glossary:

Yávië – Autumn (Quenya)  
Gwenyn – twins  
Gwanneth – younger twin


	6. Mae Govannen 6: A Delicate Decision

T.A. 236, Gwirith, Eryn Galen

“You summoned me, father?”

The inquiry came from Thranduil’s second son, a gentle knock at the open door preceding the question. Indeed, the prince had been rather taken aback by the missive interrupting his archery lesson at the behest of his King; doubly so since he was still feeling the brunt of the consequences following the Peredhil twins unfortunate leaving present. 

His father had been unconvinced by his pleas of innocence – genuine as they may have been – and as such had not welcomed his council as eagerly as before. If he desires to act as a child – repremanded his sire – then let him remain as one. 

Unbeknownst to Legolas, this was not his sole reason. Though he would not admit to anyone, not wishing to undermine his eldest son, Thranduil had grown preoccupied for Lenwë. Not in the sense that his heir was somehow unworthy: much to the contrary. Apart from being kind, he was noble; intelligent; dedicated and strong. He possessed all the qualitites necessary in a great King. But his over-enthusiasm in this area had left him deficit in others. No longer was he the carefree, young elf of days passed. His father worried that he had grown too serious; renounced the intimacies and gaieties of friendship and instead dove headfirst into the solemnity of his responsibilities to the Woodland realm.

Sighing, Thranduil motioned to the vacant chair in the corner. Legolas accepted the wordless invitation to sit, and felt the studying glance of his father. Thranduil had not wished for Legolas to return to his duties as prince so soon. In fact, his outward scolding of his son for taking part in such immature behaviour completely contradicted the relief and joy he truly felt at seeing the buoyant evidence of his cheerful nature. This had merely been an excuse to allow Legolas leave of his council meetings; and ensure that he did not follow in the footsteps of his elder sibling. But appearances had to be maintained at all times, and it did not do for the court to think their King incapable of punishing the childish behaviour of his own son. He was sure in the thought that Legolas would not completely loose his youthful impulses at his gentle discipline; but hoped, perhaps, that it may even bring his sometimes headstrong and stubborn son into line!

Legolas could feel his father’s eyes upon him, and patiently awaited the passing of his reverie. He felt at ease. Despite his father´s outward coolness; he reserved the warmth and tenderness of which he was capable for his family. Where others saw their strong and unwavering ruler, Legolas saw his compassionate and pensive father. Thus, the long held contemplation which would have unnerved so many others did nothing to daunt or temper the prince. 

Instead, he took the time to look around the room. He was somewhat surprised that his sire had not gathered any advisors. Only himself and his brother, Lenwë, had been entrusted with this conversation. 

“A missive arrived this morning.” 

The two elves sat before Thranduil appeared confused. It was not unusual for the forrest realm to receive missives; secluded as it was. This would hardly be reason enough for their presence to be requested. There was more to the matter, they were sure. Calmly, they awaited the unfolding of the tale.

“From Imladris.”

If the two had looked confused beforehand, they were left completely bewildered by the last. Neither could speak, their mouths suddenly becoming uncooperative; left agape by the shock they no doubt felt.

Time passed, and Lenwë made no move to respond; save for raising one full eyebrow. A master of dipolmacy, seldom did he let emotions get the better of him. His blue eyes remained focused, awaiting the rest of the story. To look upon him was to see Oropher reincarnate. The same impressive height; regal stance and silver hair. The same harsh jawline; straight nose; raised cheekbones and full eyebrows. But his eyes were softer than those of his grandfather. Strength could readily be seen in their depths; but they were tempered by consideration. 

“What did it say?” Asked Legolas in an even tone. The silence was finally broken. 

Thranduil smiled. His son had taken his lesson to heart. He could see the question he clearly wished to ask burning in his eyes: 

Does it bear news of the twins? 

But he had swallowed his own need; schooled the rest of his features; and asked of the contents. He had ventured his question not as an elf desperate for news of his friends; but as a diplomat inquiring into the state of affairs. 

“They wish to form an alliance.”

If the elves had been surprised to hear of the missive, they were beyond stunned by the reason behind it. A second full eyebrow rose, marking Lenwë´s astonishment. Legolas was still for a moment, trying to school his features into an appearance of disinterest. But still within his first century of life he lacked the experience to hide his joy any longer. A smile breaking out across his face, it was all he could do to remain seated at such a wonderful prospect! 

Thranduil gave him a knowing look. This alliance would certainly be cause for great happiness for two of his sons – Findecanó had not been invited to join the conversation because of his age, though his endearment towards the Peredhil twins was by no means forgotten. Yet doubt could not help clouding the mind of the Elvenking. Elladan and Elrohir had most certainly won the affection and trust of two most dear to his heart; but he knew naught of them. And the parting between himself and their father, Lord Elrond, had been less than pleasant to say the least. 

After the battle of the Last Alliance, Thranduil and his people had been devestated. Although the war had been won, the price had been high. They had lost not only a King, but the better part of their population. Little love had been lost between what remained of the Silvan Elves and their Noldorin cousins after such a dire confrontation, with hurt-filled accusations damning both sides. Thus, they had retreated, once more, to the safetly of their forrest. His father´s people had taken Thranduil as their ruler; and in their mistrust of the outside world they had gone as far as to construct their Kingdom underground, where it would be easier to defend and harder to locate. Only as his heart had started once again to open under the gentle ministrations of his late wife did Thranduil finally concede to build a summer palace above ground, that they may once again live in harmony with the forrest. 

To once again seek an alliance with an outside community would risk upsetting his volatile subjects. He would admit, there were many who fell prey to the charms of the Elrondion twins. Some may even go so far as to approve of the alliance, just to ensure their return! But there would also be naysayers. Durning the stay of the Imladris party, Thranduil´s attention had been brought to a number of elves who disapproved of the Woodland realms courtious acceptance of their Rivendell kin. What more unease would be caused by this unlooked for partnership?! The Elvenking did not fear open rebellion: his subjects were too loyal. Neither did his wish to cause discord among them. 

“Do you think it wise?”

Legolas shot an icy glare at his brother. Lenwë remained unconcerned, his stare unwavering as he awaited a reply from his sire. 

“We have survived this long without them, and I see no current threat that could warrant such necessity.” He proceeded.

“Such necessity?” Snapped Legolas. Try as he might to contain his contempt, it seeped into his words.

“Forgive me, brother, but I did not realise that alliances should be formed only out of necessity.” He continued. “If we were to seize this opportunity, there is much that could be gained on both sides. None are so wise as the Loremaster himself, not to mention their unsurpassed gift in the arts of healing.”

Lenwë considered the words of his brother for a moment, before responding:

“I will agree, that in these areas they are quite unrivaled. My only doubt is whether it will be worth the potential upset it would no doubt cause. I simply do not know if it would be prudent.”

“Prudent?!” Came the passionate reply.

“Yes. This is a complicated and delicate decision to be made. On the one hand we stand to gain a worthy ally should we ever need one; and on the other we stand to cause discontent among our own by joining with a people we do not yet know that we can trust…”

“Do you doubt their honour?!” The younger prince interrupted; fairly seething at this seeming attack on those he had grown to value dearly.

“Of course I do not doubt their honour. But I own myself unwilling to hurry blindly into such an agreement with a people we barely know.”

Thranduil could see that, were matters to continue as such, they would be here all day without reaching a decision. He thanked the powers daily for the gift of his sons, but did they all have to be so mule-headed!?

“Enough.” 

The authority in their father’s voice put a swift end to their argument, and they both turned to face him. 

Lenwë´s eyes were pensive, he was troubled by the thought of this alliance and the repercussions it may have. But he would readily bow to the will of his Lord.

Legolas, however, was another matter. Though he would concede to the truth of his brothers protestations, his heart would not accept them. He could see the advantage that his beloved homeland stood to gain from so learned and prosperous an ally; but it went deeper than that. With the sons of Elrond, he had felt himself unrestricted as he had never before been. He had been at ease with their comfortable companionship; his wits sharpened by their superior intellect; his strength and ability challenged by the knowledge that they would one day grow to be mettlesome warriors. Legolas would not bow as easily to a decision not of his liking. 

“Ada, I know that this alliance may ruffle some feathers at first.” Legolas began, taking a breath to master his impulsive nature. “But I know that it will be of benefit to us. The Gwenyn are kind and gentle; learned and thoughtful; strong and determined. In the few days I had the pleasure of keeping company with them, I saw the purity of their souls and the enormity of their hearts. I have never met their parents, but I find it hard to believe that their sires could be any different.”

This heartfelt plea moved Thranduil and Lenwë. They had been aware of his closeness to the twins during their stay, but had not conceived of the devotion they elicited from him after such a short period of time together!

Thranduil was so moved by his golden haired son, that he began to look upon the brethren in a different light. True, he had his own misgivings. But they were born not only of Elrond, but also of Celebrían, daughter of Celeborn, his estranged kin.

Mayhap it was time to mend fences and unite their peoples. 

“I will think on it. Thank you both for your wisdom.” With a nod, Thranduil allowed them permission to leave. As the two elves took to their feet; they shared a smile with their father, knowing that below the formality of his tone lay the deep affection he felt for both. 

“Do not tell Findecanó just yet of this meeting. I would not that his hopes were raised ere there is reason to raise them.” His sons nodded their compliance. They took their leave, knowing that their sire did indeed have much to think on.

As he heard the door to his study close behind them, Thranduil pondered once more not just the arguments put forward on both sides, but the depth of emotion Legolas felt for the Gwenyn. It was readily apparant to all that the three shared a remarkably quick forming bond; but he had none-the-less been surprised by the depth of it.

Perhaps Legolas had at last found companions worthy of his esteem? 

Glossary:

Gwirith – April (Sindarin)  
Eryn Galen – Greenwood  
Ada – Papa  
Gwenyn - Twins


	7. Alliance 1: Hope

A.N: I hope that you enjoyed the first series in the story: Mae Govannen. This is the second installment, Alliance. 

I would like to take the time to reiterate that this story, though based on canon from the stories of J.R.R. Tolkien, does stray loosely on some themes to allow artistic freedom. This includes Slash. It is rated M. If this is not to your liking, I respect your opinion, but advise that you do not continue the series. 

I own nothing, and am only grateful to have been inspired by the histories of Middle Earth, Valinor, and its peoples.  
Without further ado, enjoy!  
oOoOoOoOo

T.A 240, Outskirts of Eryn Galen, Lothron.

“Are you sure that this is, indeed, the right path; Elrohir?”

The younger twin scowled. He was not so preumptuous to take offence at the question itself; more accurately he could feel his frustration growing with every wrong turn that lead them further astray. His father’s question had been warranted: they appeared to be quite lost.

“I am no longer certain that there is a right path to be found, father!” Came the reply through clenched teeth, but there was no malice to his affirmation. 

“Blasted Wood-elves and their secret passages! Had I known that we would be returning I would have paid closer attention to their wanderings last time we were here!”

Elladan could not help the snicker that escaped his lips. He knew that Elrohir´s growing discomfort stemmed more from his impatience to be reunited with their Woodland friend than from temper. Indeed, he too could hardly wait to resume their close companionship. That is, if they could navegate the immensity of the Greenwood and actually find the Kingdom hidden within. 

Hearing his twin’s mirth and seeing his mother’s amused smile; Elrohir relaxed somewhat; an embarrassed grin taking form and lightening his features. He shook his head: he would never hear the end of this if Legolas found out!

“How do you feel, my love?” 

Asked Elrond gently of his spouse. The twins, too, turned their attention to their mother; concerned for her well-being.

“I am well, husband. Do not worry yourself.” Came the gentle, smiling reply.

The Lady of Imladris was nothing alike to her husband and sons. Where the blood of man ran through their veins, lending them a vigor and worldliness; Celebrían was ethereal; where their locks were dark; hers were of purest silver; even their masculine, contoured faces bore little to no resemblance to the delicacy and innocence of Celebrían´s.  
She was beautiful. Every part the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn, her purity and gentle spirit were as famous as her allure. Yet this did not fully account for the glow that she currently emmitted. 

Celebrían carried within her the life of their unborn child. The joy exuded from her very pores, clothing her in a pale light. She was a wonderous sight to behold.

Elrond had worried about undertaking this journey, given his wife´s condition. They had barely had time to celebrate this gift when Thranduil´s missive arrived: the King had finally relented to an audience with the Elvenlord to discuss the possible alliance; issuing an invitation to the Greenwood. 

The master of Rivendell was beyond himself. After four years of correspondence, held back of course by the Elvenking’s untrusting nature, Thranduil chose this moment to accept his proposal?! It was almost too much for Elrond to endure with good grace. The whole endeavour, all the hard work, it would come to naught if they could not accept the invitation to visit the Greenwood. Yet how could they, given his wife´s condition? It was a long and hard journey by any standards, and not to be undertaken lightly. The trecherous terrain of the Misty Mountains alone was worriesome. With a sigh, Elrond had conceaded that he would have to politely seek to postpone such a meeting; and hope that Thranduil would not reconsider his offer in the time elapsed…

However, his wife was of another mind. Although she had, at first, been unsure of the prudence of proposing an alliance after just one visit, now that they had been granted a sojourn she would certainly not let her husbands hard fought victory go to waste.

As deceiving as her fragile appearance may be; Celebrían was made of sterner stuff. She had not taken well to the idea of being coddled like a child; especially under such circumstances. She was no elfling to be told what she could or could not endure; not even by the ruler of Imladris himself. And so she had softly, but firmly, reminded her husband that she was perfectly capable of undergoing such a journey; given that she was still within her first few weeks of pregnancy. She had weighed the options, and having made her decision would not easily be deterred.

Stunned by the determination of his wife, Elrond’s protests were eventually silenced. His concern for her and the safety of their third child would not ebb, but his sweet wife put many of his worries to rest with her gently resolution. As she had said, she was no elfling; but one of the most insightful and thoughtful beings this side of Valinor: if she felt that she could handle the challenge without risk being posed to their offspring, he would trust her.

That was not to say that he would not take precautions, however. Elrond had proceeded to thoroughly examine his wife to be sure that there were no exceptional circumstances which may prohibit their travels. This confirmed, their acceptance was duly returned by missive. There was no time to be lost. With all possible haste, Glorfindel was entrusted to rule in Elrond´s stead; advisors were made aware of their imminent departure; preparations were undertaken; bags were packed; farewells were said and the beloved Lords of the Hidden Vale had ventured forth.

It had been a rather tiresome journey, as expected. They had taken rest more frequently than the first time the twins had crossed this path; ever conscious not to put too much strain upon their dear mother, who was, in turn, thankful of this consideration. During the nights, after seeing that the horses were settled, the small group of elves escorting the family took turns on guard duty with the Peredhil twins. Many were seen to smile upon their Lady as they either began or ended their shift; ensconsed in the warm protection of her husband’s emrace; a loving hand cradling her as yet unswollen stomach. 

They had continued thusly for many a week; until finally they had reached the edge of the forrest. Looks of content had been exchanged upon reaching their destination, the trees a welcome sight. At least, at first. Before they lost their way. Elation had turned to impatience, and soon the elves were heard to mutter curses to the endless trees that had, once, been such a cause for joy.

“I found the path!”

Elrohir could have kissed his brother upon hearing those blessed words. It seemed that all was not lost, and the hopeful party from Imladris soon resumed their course toward a rather unsure Greenwood….

oOo

T.A 240, Taur Galen, Lothron.

The Royal family stood proudly outside their palace, awaiting the arrival of their guests. All the Lords and Ladies of the realm had also been summoned; the magnitude of such an event occassioned formal reception.

“Dan! Roh!”

It was all Legolas could do to hold his younger brother in line once he caught sight of the two familiar figures. Elation at their arrival had swiftly overtaken decorum; and it seemed that Thranduil had wasted his breath explaining the Royal protocol to his dark haired child. 

Said child merely grinned sheepishly; though he realised his error he remained unabashed and unrepentant. 

Under normal circumstances, Thranduil would have indulged his sweet boy in a gentle smile. Under normal circumstances. Today, it was all the ruler could do to maintain his calm. 

Having discussed the proposition of an alliance with his advisors; Thranduil had, as he expected, been met with opposition from the most part. Centuries of isolation would not be overcome in one short visit; even from ones so renowned as Glorfindel and the Peredhil twins. Years had been spent considering the ramifications of either decison. Should he accept he would no doubt bring about the discomfort of many; should he refuse the offer may never be made again. 

At last, he had taken the advice offered by his second son to heart. There was much to be risked in making such a bold move as overturning the apple cart, so to speak. But without risks; there can be no gain.

Having finally made his decision; the King had quickly dispatched the message of acceptance; worried that his courage to do so may not last long. And how wise he had been in this foresight. 

King Thranduil was not one to second guess his decisions, once made. Yet he could not help doubting this course of action. No sooner had the missive left to deliver that fateful message than he began to repent. It was not only concern that knawed away at the son of Oropher; but his own pride. 

He had not seen Lord Elrond since the Last Alliance. It smote him that he should be considering union between the two realms after such a tormentuous parting. Doubly so when he thought back on his own fiery words; on his presumptuous assertion that his folk would never more seek the company nor aid of their Noldorin kin. 

It was little wonder, therefore, that he had awaited the response from the Hidden Vale with mixed feelings. Thranduil had felt his stomach drop even as he rejoiced at their acceptance of his offer and sudden departure. Clearly they were of the same mind that to linger may give the King time to reconsider; and as such had decided to head for the forrest realm with all haste.

Swallowing his pride, Thranduil awaited his noble guests. He would never let his own feelings overcome his duty to those he ruled.

As their guests arrived, the King stepped forward to greet them. Though he could sense the impatience of Legolas; it was important that the protocol was followed upon this first meeting between the two estranged communities. 

“Lord Elrond, Lady Celebrían: mae govannen, my honoured guests. I extend my thanks for accepting the invitation.”

Elrond and Celebrían nodded their respects; also somewhat nervous. 

“It is a great pleasure to be welcomed to so fine a realm; King Thranduil, son of Oropher; and we are thankful for the opportunity to discuss an alliance with Eryn Galen.”

The lore-master´s reply was dignified; none could tell by looking at him the discomfort he truly felt. 

Thranduil turned to Celebrían. His eyebrows rose slightly. There was no mistaking the light that emenated from her; the luscious shimmer of her hair; nor the utter content that exuded her being. She is with child!

“I hope that the journey was not too tiresome, My Lady, in such a condition?”

Celebrían smiled. Even should she have wanted to, there was no concealing that she was expecting. Not from Elven eyes. She unconsciously reached a hand down the cradle her stomach nurturingly.

“I thank you for your concern, King Thranduil, but it was as uneventful as we could have hoped.”

Both Elrond and Thranduil somewhat relaxed at these words. The silver-haired Lady of the Vale had the most calming effect on both that Elrond wondered at the prospect of keeping her close by to smooth out any tensions.

“I shall not delay your rest any longer than necessary. May I present to you my sons: Lenwë, Legolas and Findecáno.”

As their names were said, each son bowed respectfully to the renowned couple; their names proceeding them.

“My servants shall tend to your horses and see that food is brought to your rooms.” – Continued Thranduil – “I invite you to explore and enjoy the comforts of our home as you wish.”

Elrond and Celebrían were thankful of this thoughtful consideration, and gladly acquiesced: negociations could wait for the time being. The twins, however, were more thankful that the formalities were done with and they could now greet their friends!

The two sliding quickly and gracefully from their horses wasted no time in closing the gap to the rapidly approaching Legolas and Findecáno. They were all reunited in a tight embrace; words rendered unnecessary.

Stepping back; they all looked anew upon each other. 

“I had not thought to see you both so soon.”

Legolas broke the silence, his voice full of mirth and his eyes beaming with happiness.

The twins smiled in return; but Elrohir cocked an eyebrow:

“I am sorry if our swift reappearance displeases you. We would have extended our stay within the woods to explore thoroughly if we had but known our arrival would be an inconvenience.”

The words uttered by Elrohir would have been provoking if not for the playful expression that danced upon his face. His brother smiled, and goadingly replied:

“Nay, gwanneth! I could not have remained any longer within those woods than we were forced to by your own lacking sense of direction!”

This elicited a surprised laugh from both Legolas and Findecáno. Elrohir looked in mock disapproval upon his older brother for sharing this confidence, but his stern countenance did not last long. Soon, he also joined the good natured laughing. 

The twin´s parents looked lovingly upon the two: they had not witnessed first hand the bond that had been formed; having only to rely upon stories and retellings from their sons and Glorfindel. This was the first that they had seen of the sons of Thranduil, and they had to admit that no exaggerations had been made in regards to the comeliness or gentle nature of the two youngest.

Content that their sons were happy; the Lord and Lady of Imladris allowed themselves to be escorted to their chambers by the servants; grateful at the prospect of rest. 

The same could not be said of the four young elves who were, by now, exchanging stories of the years that had passed since their first meeting. Findecáno took possesive hold of Elrohir´s hand, demanding his undevided attention, while Legolas was happy to saunter alongside Elladan as they made their way to their usual spot in the glade; the twins belongings and need to unpack forgotten for the time being. 

Thranduil, in spite of his misgivings, could not help but smile at such an open and affectionate manner held by the four companions. He looked to his side, at Lenwë, who nodded his head at the passing of the party. 

With matters seen to and nothing left to attend, Lenwë took leave, also, of his father. 

The King was left alone with his thoughts, the Lords and Ladies in attendance following their crown prince and dispersing. Their first meeting had gone well. And his heart had been lightened by the knowledge that he had managed to bring joy to two of his sons. 

What would come to pass was in his hands now. It had taken a good deal for Thranduil to put his pride to one side; but he was encouraged by the courteous, if somewhat reserved, greetings. 

Valar give him strength, he hoped that he would not grow to regret his decision! But as soon as the idea crossed his mind, he felt another rise within him and overtake his unease: A hope that a bond might be forged between the two realms by more than their sons shared friendship. 

It was a small and apprehensive hope; but it would very slowly begin to take hold over not just the King; but the majority of his subjects.

Glossary:

Eryn Galen – Green wood  
Lothron – May (Sindarin)  
Mae Govannen – Well Met  
Eryn Galen – Greenwood the Great


	8. Alliance 2: Against All Adversity

T.A 240, Eryn Galen, Lothron.

The sound of metal clashing against metal broke the silence in the Greenwood. Two warriors battled for supremacy; their bodies drenched in sweat; muscles aching under the strain; faces masks of concentration. They exchanged blows; thrusting and parrying; ducking and weaving; an ancient dance that they had yet to perfect; for all the promise they showed. Possessed not only with the agility and stealth of the first born; these two brought to harness also the tumultuous power of men.

They had gained quite a crowd, despite the somewhat reluctant welcome offered them. Intrigue had quickly passed through the forrest Kingdom, and so many now stood looking over the sparring match between the youngest sons of the Peredhil line. 

Chief among them was Amras, captain of Taur Galen. He watched with interest as the twins – barely past their first century of life – put to good use the training that they had thus far received. To say that it was impressive would be an understatement. 

The match had been long: neither brother wished to concede infront of such a gathering. Though not vain, they were well aware of the strained relations between themselves and their Silvan kin, and wished to prove their merit. 

Thusly they continued. Lightning fast strokes were met by quick elven reflexes; giving way to bouts of near inactivity, in which the two would circle each other warily: contemplating their positions; forming strategies; searching for a sign of weakness. 

But it was brought to an abrupt end when Elladan found his defenses breached of a sudden by his brother; and gazed in wonder at the unexpected blade held but centimeters from his exposed neck. 

Elrohir breathed heavily as he saw the look of comprehension take hold upon his brothers face. He lowered his sword; a smile gracing his lips. He saw his twin nod in acceptance and returned the gesture; before stepping forward to gather his dear brother to him in a tight embrace. They remained so for a moment, their bowed heads pressed close together the only outward sign of the fatigue they must surely have felt.

They were promptly joined by their golden friend; and felt the congratulatory claps upon their shoulders. 

“That was truly wonderful, Mellyn!” 

The two smiled gratefully at Legolas´ praise, breaking their embrace but for an instant to include him as they wandered out of the training field. They were conscious of the eyes that followed them as they left, but they were of little consequence; so complete did they feel in their small company.

“I must admit, I did not know who would be victorious. You must show me how you finally penetrated your brothers resistance, Elrohir!”

Legolas was nigh extatic at such a show of discipline from his Imladrin comrades; especially when said show had been witnessed by many who wished to tarnish their names for no reason other than ignorance. They had proven themselves worthy opponents, though young and yet to fully hone their skills. He hoped that this may waylay some of his folks resentment and condescension.

His eyes glittered with amusement and determination, and the twins saw also that he was genuine in his petition for guidance. Though under the able tutelage of Amras, Legolas Thranduilion was ever eager to learn; and would not shirk any guidance that may be advantageous. His appreciation of the Peredhil twins had not been idle, and both brothers smiled at so honest and open a request.

“Nothing would please me more.” Elrohir replied, humbled by the request.

“You too, Elladan. Don’t think yourself spared just because of your misfortune today.” The Greenwood prince quipped, making clear his desire for the attention of both his friends.

“Misfortune? Legolas, you shame me!” Elrohir bantered, neither malice nor reprimand colouring his jest. “Own yourself bested, Elladan, that this penneth not further sully my victory!”

“Aye, I will admit myself bested by that particular stroke, brother.” Elladan conceded, quickly adding: “However, only by that one stroke! I have a reputation to uphold.”

Laughter greeted the statement; and the seemingly indignant Elladan let slide the mask of severity and soon joined his friends in their mirth.

“You are ever a worthy opponent, brother.” Elrohir stated, all joking aside his esteem and regard for his brother´s skills was readily apparent. “I fear that Legolas was right in ascertaining that luck had as great a part to play as swordshmanship.”

“Well, whatever it was, I am sure that you caused quite a stir among my folk!” Legolas informed them, pride seeping into his words.

“Mayhap they will treat you with the respect you deserve, or risk angering the fearsome warriors of the Hidden Vale!”

The three were once again taken by laughter then; as they wandered easily through the clearing with arms interlinked and smiles upon their faces, glad to have been reunited after a separation far shorter than anticipated.

oOo

Elrond sighed as he raised a weary hand to his forehead to massage his temple. He had known that this alliance would be hard won, but by the Valar, he had not known how quickly his patience would wear thin!

He was in continual disaccord with the King Thranduil, and it seemed at times provoked intentionally by said Kings antagonism. 

“I understand your concerns, your Highness, however I find it hard to conceive of an alliance in which there is not free movement permitted between the realms.”

Thranduil’s distrust of the Noldor was legendary, and it seemed that it had not been exaggerated. They had disagreed, so far, upon every issue they discussed; even down to the smallest of details. It was but the first day of their diplomatic talks; though it was anything but encouraging.

It had been decided, at this early point, that Elrond and Thranduil would be left alone to hash out any initial differences. There would be time, afterwards, to invite council from trusted advisors of both parties, Elrond having sought that Erester accompany them to fulfill this capacity. The Lord of Imladris saw the prudence in this arrangement, for if this discussion was hostile between the two of them, it would be exacerbated further by the distrust of the Greenwood councillors.

Though not usually one to indulge in idle gossip, the lore-master could not help but be cognizant of the troubling rumours spreading throughout the Greenwood in regard to his folk. Though ages past, and directly affecting very few Elves who remained in Aman this day, the Kinslayings were a constant blight upon the honour of his kin. This was worsened by the loss of Oropher and many of their own in the battle of the Last Alliance; and the consensus among the elves of Taur Galen that the Noldor could have prevented it, had they wished. 

Had these elves forgotten the loss suffered by his own? Of the fate of Gil-Galad?

“What you propose would leave us vulnerable; you know the nature of my people.” 

King Thranduil had been hopeful that this alliance would come to fruition just hours earlier. Met with the reality, however, he found the complexities had not been diminished by their encouraging first meeting. This relation remained as daunting as ever it had; and he was reminded of his many doubts that had almost lead him to refuse altogether. 

“Vulnerable to whom?” Elrond inquired. “I seek not to send orcs or raiders to your door: merely that trusted residents of my realm may ask safe passage within your borders.”

“And once within? How would they be governed? Am I to accept your word that no ill shall befall my subjects?” Thranduil remained skeptical.

“We may discuss regulations and restrictions regarding visits; and those who wish to undertake such sojourns must surely abide by the laws of the realm in which they find themselves.” 

The lore-master sought to assuade the fears the ElvenKing clearly felt.

“I feel that this alliance must be built upon a foundation of trust and respect.” Continued Elrond, “Without such, it may not be successful.”

“None the less; you are aware of the isolation of my Kingdom.” Thranduil countered. “Would you have me simply overturn centuries of caution on a whim?”

Thranduils provoking responses were growing harder to accept with the humility and composure required of so tense a negociation. 

“Surely it is no mere whim! This Alliance has been four years in the making ere a meeting was allowed to take place.” Elrond was fast approaching his limits.

“And what are four years to an immortal? I see no reason for haste.”

Thranduil´s tone was warning; he, too, was becoming irritable.

Elrond saw the futility of continuing the subject further; though he wished to do as much. He would leave it for the time being; lest one of them lose their forebearance. Instead, he sought to change the topic of negociaton.

“And what of trade? I am sure we can, at least, come together on an arrangement of equal benefit to both parties?”

His strategy seemed to have given the desired effect. Thranduil visibly calmed, and was able to rein in some of his ire. The healthy debate was resumed; but there was by no means a light to be seen at the end of the tunnel. 

Not yet.

oOo

Celebrían smiled as she looked upon the young elves before her. While her husband was in negociations with the King of the Greenwood; she had chosen to sit leasurely in the glade favoured by her sons and the woodland prince. The scene before her was one of merryment and pure delight: Elladan and Elrohir were regaling Legolas with stories of the Imladrin refuge; and in a rather boisterous manner at that! 

They shared easy laughter as Elladan jumped upon Elrohir, bringing him to the ground; recounting the recent incident in which the twins had tormented their poor gardener not one month before. It was all good hearted, of course, but that did not stop the gentle complaints she regularly received, along with Elrond, as to their sons unruly behaviour.  
Glancing back to the three; Celebrían assumed that their tale had been completed; if the rapid scattering of Elladan and Elrohir, followed quickly by Legolas, was any indication. Mischief never seemed to be far behind her sons; and it would appear that their companion was of the same teasing disposition. 

She wondered absently what the twins could have done to have provoked such a tireless persuit; knowing their ingenuity it could be any matter of things. Laughs and cries were heard as Legolas caught his prey; tackling Elrohir roughly to the ground where he landed with an inelegant “uff!”. 

No sooner had Elladan turned to inquire as to the nature of such a raucous than did he suffer the same fate; landing with an equally inelegant “huh!”.  
Pleased with his workmanship; the golden prince took a seat between the two dark haired elves; laughing as they rose to sit beside him and brushed off the dirt clinging to their clothes.

“Does the soil trouble you?” Asked Legolas, tauntingly. “I had not thought you both to be so concerned with your state of dress.”

“´Tis not our appearance that causes umbrage.” Replied Elladan, a smile creeping across his face. “Rather it is the unregal manner in which we were thrust into such filth.”

“And since when have you behaved regally?” Was the rhetoric response.

“Mind your tongue, cunneth, for you address your elders.” Elladan countered; enjoying the mutinous glare cast at him by their forrest friend. 

Sensing that round two was fast approaching, and savouring the calm that had descended upon them too much to allow it to pass, Elrohir intervened. 

“Just when do you celebrate your hundredth begetting day, dear prince?” 

If Legolas had wished to continue his discussion with Elladan, he showed no sign as he allowed himself to be diverted.

“Fourteen summers from now.”

“And would you welcome our company?” 

Legolas stared in shock at Elrohir. He had not considered that they would be able to share in the event; nor that they would have taken an interest after such a short acquaintance. But he felt his heart lift at the prospect; and at the unexpected thoughtfulness. 

“Ever will your company be welcome; I treasure you both as members of my own family.”

The twins were humbled for the second time that day by the loyalty and regard shown by Legolas. The honesty of his words and the affection with which they were uttered left them all but mute.

Elrohir was the first to voice their mutual sentiment:

“As we treasure you.” 

Celebrían took this time to study her sons newest friend. Fair of face he was; and lithe of limb and tall of stance. There was no hint of a lie in the tales of his beauty, yet he was stronger than Celebrían had expected: she predicted that, with the passing of time and the continued training in the arts of battle, he would become a powerful and potent warrior. 

Legolas. One rendering was Greenleaf, and it was fitting for this child of nature. But the Lady felt that another rendering was perhaps just as apt: Keensight. She had inherited the gift of her mother; and sensed that the strength of this woodland prince would lie in his domination of the bow, rather than the sword. 

The three elves before her continued their comfortable diversion, unaware of the predictions and conjectures being made. Celebrían smiled once more. She was pleased for her sons, as it seemed that they had, indeed, found a true friend in the least expected of places; and against all adversity. Would that their friendship could stand the test of time and distance; remaining constant and offering succor. 

This the Lady hoped also for the child growing within her; that he or she would be as content as her older brothers were in this very moment.

oOo

“Try again, cunneth.” 

Parvon felt that he was fighting a losing battle. The usually high spirits of the young prince seemed somewhat dulled today; and he thought he may know of the reason.

Five years had passed since the unexpected visit of the Noldor; its ranks including certain twins. His student had formed an attachment to said twins; and his sadness at their departure had been palpable. A sorrow seemed to have taken hold: not just of Findecáno; but his older brother, Legolas. 

Though the latter had attempted to put a brave face on his feelings; the once open smile the prince was wont to bestow upon his friends and family rarely seemed to meet his eyes. He had, indeed, attempted to cheer his younger brother; distraught by the suffering he saw in the usually exuberant elfling. But how was he to do so, when he could not adequately dispel his own melancholy? 

Thusly the two youngest sons of Thranduil had behaved for some time after the departure of their unexpected friends; dampening the very air of the Greenwood. For the royal family were the heart and soul of the kingdom; loved by all for their kind, joyful nature; while they were similarly respected for their strength and sense of duty. 

But their morose outlook had waned with time; and though they were not quite returned to their usual selves their feeling turned to jubilance at the knowledge of their comrades´swift return, and Findecáno’s surety that he would, once again, be indulged by their playful and kind temperament.

However this had not come to pass. Despite their closeness being resumed upon their first meeting just the day before - in which they had whiled away the hours in spirited jesting and play, - today he had been forced to return to reality, and with it his responsibilities. He was an elfling, still, and as such was expected to continue his tuition; whether the Lords Elladan and Elrohir were here or no. 

“Findecáno, did you hear me?” 

Parvon gently tried, again, to capture the attention of his ward. He was greeted by a vacant stare, as Findecáno turned his head of chocolate curls away from the window and back towards his sympathetic tutor. 

If Parvon had thought his pupil to be distracted in the wake of his friends departure, he was now devoid of all attention. He felt a pang of empathy for the young prince, how could he not? To see the hurt lurking behind the usually bright and gay eyes smote his very heart. He held a deep affection for Findecáno.

The scholar had always been able and willing to form relationships with his charges due to his kind and patient nature. But his affection for the youngest Thranduilion surpassed all he had previously felt. 

Perhaps it was due, in part, to the tragedy of the prince never knowing his mother. Irrational as it was, he felt somewhat guilty that he should have known the warm and gentle affection of Órelindë; have laughed with her and delighted in her whimsical nature; and even saught solace in her wisdom. How cruel that this beautiful child, who should have known naught but bliss in her love, was without her care.

Turning his thoughts from such sadness, the school master accepted that there was nothing to be accomplished today. Better to let this sweet child endulge in the tender ministrations of those he could do naught to rid from his mind.

He leant over Findecáno, startling the absent elf, and gracefully collected his books. He was met, at first, with confusion. This soon gave way to expectant eyes; as Findecáno hoped that this would signal the end of his lessons for today. With a nod towards to door, Parvon granted him permission to leave.

And was instantly rewarded. The smile that lit the young face was startling in its brilliance. All manner of decorum forgotten, Findecáno rose quickly from his desk and Parvon soon found himself with an armful of elated elfling. Breaking his hold and casting one last look of grattitude at his teacher, Findecáno all but ran out of the doors and towards the glade, where he knew that his three companions would surely be.

Glossary: 

Eryn Galen – Green Wood  
Lothron – May (Sindarin)  
Cunneth – Princeling  
Penneth – Young one


	9. Alliance 3: Appetites

T.A. 240, Eryn Galen, Lothron.

The sun was but new in the sky, chasing away any shadows that had dared to linger and arousing the beauty of the forrest realm. Elven ears, recently woken, heard the melodious chirping of the birds signalling the beginning of a new day. All was still. 

Would that it had remained so. The tranquility of the Greenwood was disturbed at so early an hour by three rambunctious elves; gathered together in close company within the princes private quarters. The servants, beginning their daily toils, were somewhat taken aback by such liveliness; and threw curious glances towards the door of the offending youngsters. It was not unusual for the prince to be awake at such an hour – as he was wont to waken before sunrise – but that did not explain the commotion.

Within said quarter it was obvious what was causing such uproar: the three elves were laughing whole heartedly; tears of mirth brimming in their gleeful eyes and hands clutching for support in an attempt to steady their crumpling bodies. What had started the descent into their current state was of little import and would not likely be remembered in the years to come. But the memory of shared smiles and merriment would remain.

“It is truly a beautiful day.”

Once they had recovered their breathing and returned to an upright position, Elrohir had moved towards the balcony; looking out through the open doors. Today marked the beginning of their second week within their friends home; and the twins still had not accustomed the the enclosed space. 

Though the thick forrest surrounding the realm felt stifling at times to the Imladrin elves; the untamed nature that surrounded them in this visceral, primal domain was as different to their own home as night is to day. 

“It certainly is brother.” Agreed Elladan. “Tell me, Legolas, what do you have lined up for us today?”

The subtle rise of an elegant eyebrow preceded any response. “Lined up? Tell me, Elladan, am I no more than a tour guide or nanny that I should be responsable for your entertainment during your stay?” 

“Nay, we would never think of you as such.” Elrohir returned from the balcony to place a soothing hand upon the shoulder of his friend.

“Exactly, Elrohir. We would never entrust you with such responsibilty, dear prince.” Elladan beamed, his tone serious despite the horseplay.

Legolas´eyes narrowed. 

“´Tis a shame, for I had the most wonderous idea of how to toil away our afternoon…” Legolas smiled upon seeing Elrohir smirk at the petulant look upon his brothers face.

“Then let us not waste the day. If Elladan is not interested in your planning, I myself most certainly am.” Elrohir moved to link arms with his golden friend.

Elladan looked upon his twin with bewilderment: although they often partook in jokes and other jests, they were rarely at odds with each other, even in such shenanigans. 

“You would leave me here, both of you, at the mercy of the unsympathetic woodelves?!” Elladan countered, gesturing in the direction of the door and signalling the general populace without.

“Elladan, I hardly think my folk to be unsympathetic to your cause….” Legolas replied, a knowing smile curving his lips. 

Elladan felt his own lips quirk upward to smile in response, seeming rather pleased with this reply. It was true: the twins had caught the attention of many Ellyth and Ellyn so far during their stay. Huddles of blushing maidens had been known to giggle and point rather ungracefully at the passing of the twins; while some of the soldiers had been more direct in their desires; not even attempting to hide their lustful stares and oggling appreciation of the Peredhel as they undressed them with their eyes. 

“Perhaps you are right… I am sure that I will be able to find some way to entertain myself without your babysitting.” Elladan all but leered; a predatory light gleaming within his eyes.

Chuckles greeted this lust filled statement. Elrohir clasped his twin by the arm as Legolas shook his head; but their enjoyment was interrupted by the light ringing of the bell outside signalling that breakfast had been served. Appetites of a different nature came to the front, and with one last look shared between the three companions they opened the door and made their way down to the dining hall.

oOo

The smell of food drifted sensuously from the halls, the promise of sweet pastries; cured meats; filling oats and rich honey among other delights enticing the advisor now making his way towards such delicious fare. 

Erestor closed his eyes as he breathed deeply of the tempting aroma, almost savouring the smell. But an undignified growl from his stomach interrupted his thoughts; this bodily reminder of his need breaking through all other senses and prompting him to continue in search of sustenance. He pushed open the large doors to enter the dining hall and, spotting Elrond and Celebrían, quickly moved to take a seat near his Lord and Lady. 

Settling himself contentedly with a bow towards the rulers of his homeland, he quieted the urge to ladel everything within sight onto his empty plate: instead serving himself small amounts of the much desired nourishment in a refined and elegant manner. As he took his first bite – by Elbereth, it tasted simply divine to his famished buds! – he allowed his eyes to wander in surveyance of his surroundings.

The hall was constructed in much the same manner as the rest of the palace. Having been built seemlessly to entwine with the trees used as support; it felt as much a part of nature as the forrest itself. All around the spaces were open and airy – in contrast to the smothering forrest without – and beautiful images of leaf, and tree, and stream and flower had been skillfully carved into the wooden furnishings and walls. It was simple and majestic. 

As he ate, Erestor allowed his mind to wander. He began pondering the woodland domain. It was said that this was not the only palace under Thranduil´s rule: he had heard whispers of another; built into the very fastness of the caves to the North Eastern corner of the forrest. Rumour dictated that these halls were accessible only by two heavy doors carved from the stone; and protected by magic. None could enter the fortress without permission from the Elvenking himself; and so the contents of this alleged stronghold was the subject of speculation and fancy. If they even existed, the advisor thought to himself. 

His consciousness followed this trail; his imagination conjuring images of dark rooms, enclosed not only beneath the canopy of trees but under layers of rock and slab. He saw a place not airy and light like the palace in which he sat. He saw a series of tunnels leading ever deeper into the very foundations of the earth, sparse light given only by candles and could almost taste the stale air within. He shivered unconsciously. Hailing from the realm of Imladris, which was under open sky and confined by neither forrest nor stone, he felt uneasy at the thought of living in such a confined space. But he soon regained control of his straying mind, and brought his thoughts to heel.

“How did you sleep, dear friend?”

Erestor was brought back to the present when he felt the light touch of a hand above his own accompany the question. He looked up into the tender gaze of the Lady Celebrían, and blushed slightly as she had clearly noticed his distraction. 

“Very well indeed, my Lady, I thank you for asking.” Erestor replied, never forgetting his duty and the courtesy due his Lords in public, despite the many years of friendship they had shared.

“And yourself?” 

“Soundly. The woods refresh and sooth me, for I remember fondly my days in Lórien as a simple woodelf.” Came the smiling, satisfied reply.

Erestor smiled in answer. An elf of the woods of Lothlórien she may be, but this Lady would never be regarded as simple.

They continued their breakfast in companionable conversation: Elrond, Celebrían and Erestor of the Hidden Vale. Although the first week of their stay had already passed, the curious glances and mumbled talk around them had not lessened, and the three were ever aware of the constant scrutiny with which they were viewed. 

One elf, however, appeared in the dining halls of a sudden. He did not mumble or glance surreptitiously in their presence. Rather, he lifted his determined gaze to catch that of Elrond Half-Elven. He held the gaze, and though a smile graced his lips a sneer of contempt coloured his eyes. Having ascerted his authority – at least, to his own mind – the elf broke the gaze, turning to his fellow woodelves and sitting amongst them. 

“And just who is that elf?” Erestor´s tone was light and curious, but to one who knew him well enough there was no mistaking the fire in his eyes. 

“He is named Iphannor, I believe, and is chief advisor to King Thranduil.” Elrond replied, feigning disinterest and occupying himself in serving his beloved wife another slice of cured meat.

“Chief advisor.” It was a statement, but the questioning tone underneath spoke of Erestor´s discomfort. 

“Yes. He is well respected among the folk here; and gave counsel to Oropher also, if I am not mistaken.” Elrond did not lift his eyes as he began eating himself, blowing gently upon the warm oats before him.

“Ah.”

Erestor’s reply was succinct. There was not much could be said. The Lord, Lady and advisor understood the implications of one of Oropher´s advisors counseling his son, Thranduil. The father of the Elvenking had been known for his active distrust of the Noldor, a feeling shared by those of his inner circle. That Iphannor had been a part of that circle did not bode well for negociations, and Erestor knew that he would have to keep an eye on that elf. 

But he thought no more upon the subject as his attention was drawn, yet again, to the entrance. He watched as Elladan, Elrohir and Legolas scanned the halls, their usual merry experessions lighting their features, and this time the gaze of Elrond was met not with contempt or condesenscion but with the love and affection of his sons, and the respect and admiration of the woodland prince. The three companions quickly approached and, after the twins had warmly kissed their mother upon the cheek and nodded to their father in greeting, were soon seated themselves. Hardly had their behinds touched upon wood of their seats than they were serving themselves great platefuls of sustenance; unconcerned by the knowing glances alighting upon their enthusiastic forms. 

“Good morning, my Lords and Lady.” Legolas, though smiling warmly, was still somewhat awed by the presence of being in the company of such highly esteemed nobles. “I trust you slept well?” 

Erestor smirked indulgently at the echoing of the greetings he himself had received just moments before. He was intrigued by the second son of Thranduil. It was clear that Elladan and Elrohir thought highly of him, but Erestor himself had not had the chance yet to ascertain the reasoning behind such praise. 

“Very well, prince Legolas, thank you for your concern.” Elrond smiled in response. The gentle and carefree nature of Legolas was growing on him. 

“Call me Legolas, please, Lord Elrond.”

The lore-master smiled once more.

“And I am merely Elrond, Legolas. There is no need for titles once duty has been set aside.”

The smile of utter content and gratitude that Legolas flashed all but took the breath from Erestor. The young elf looked upon the party from Imladris with something akin to awe, and the advisor could see that being on first name terms with a lord of such renown had raised the already high spirits of the woodelf.

The advisor saw, also, that the twins seemed to be encouraged by their friends enthusiasm. Elladan looked upon Legolas with almost brotherly pride and joy, while Elrohir…. 

Erestor looked a little closer, an indescernible frown taking place upon his brow. Elrohir, also, looked upon the prince with pride and joy – but it seemed to run deeper than the regard shown by his own twin. The dark haired elf thought to himself. It was hardly surprising, he mused. Elrohir, though usually less inclined to forge strong friendships, once sure of something was almost impossible to deter. Therefore it made sense, rationalised the counsellor, that once his trust and love had been earned it would be felt more deeply than that even of his more affable brother. 

That must be it, assumed Erestor, nodding to himself in satisfaction. And without a second thought, he resumed eating and rejoined the conversation.

oOo

The rustle of straw and the light tread of hoof resonated throughout the stables, the occassionaly whinny or snort accompanying the contented melody and the munch of hay sustaining the innate rhythm that all woodelves felt humming within them. Those steeds that were sheltered lovingly within enjoyed the luxuries provided: the near constant grooming, the gentle companionship of the elves, the soft bedding. Bays, chestnuts, duns and palominos, dappled and piebald and skewbald and pinto, gray and black; the horses of the woodland realm were as free of spirit and as cheerful as the elves that cared for them. It may have been due the almost silent dialogue that they enjoyed with their two-legged comrades, or perhaps the knowledge that they would never be forced against their will. Whatever the reason, these horses were as secure and happy as they could possibly be amongst those who sought not to master them, but to enjoy them.

Findecáno was revelling in these very conditions, gently scratching the hindquarter of a fiery chestnut and whispering soothingly. The horse, Coleth, lifted her head, straining her neck, ears pricked forwards in delight, and began pawing the ground with her back hoof in appreciation. Findecáno continued more vigorously until, with a final swish of the tail and glad snort, the mare signalled her relief. He smiled to himself. He had taken a particular liking to Coleth – or, rather, she had taken a particular liking to him. He had stayed in the stables after his horsemanship lesson had ended. Although elves naturally do not need guidance in the art of riding itself, any self respecting Edhil from the Greenwood should be just as able to pick their hooves, provide their sustenance or care for their injuries and maladies. Especially the son of the King. 

So occupied with Coleth was he, that only the whinny of Nadhoron broke his reverie and the young elf became aware of three others.  
“Hello, my friend.” 

The golden figure stopped before the Palomino, reaching out a hand to affectionately pat the strong neck. The stallion gladly accepted the caress, nickering his approval in his deep voice, but he eyed the two strangers standing further behind somewhat wearily. He was a possessive being, and picky. He would not take to just anyone and certainly did not wish to share his elf with two unknowns.

Legolas chuckled softly at Nadhoron´s reaction, murmuring low assurances and soothing professions. Eventually the stallion seemed to be convinced. The Peredhil brethren felt the ease of the horse, and slowly approached, reaching out their hands but not touching. Nadhoron advanced slowly to sniff the offered apendages, and having been satisfied allowed the twins to approach further, stroking his smooth neck and patting. Unconcerned, the horse looked away as he began to nibble the shoulder of Legolas in a noncholant manner, sure that there was no immediate danger from these rather boring creatures.

The prince laughed once more and stroked his friends nose, before stepping away and walking towards his younger brother. 

“We missed you at breakfast.” 

Findecáno looked up into the smiling face and couldn’t resist the upturning of his lips.

“I was not hungry.”

Despite his happiness to see his brother, this assertion marred the previously untroubled countenance. 

Legolas frowned, his brows knotting together and the easiness gone from his appearance. “Why not?”

Findecáno merely shrugged his shoulders, looking once again upon the chestnut mare, and picked up a grooming brush to busy himself. 

Legolas sighed. Clearly there was more to this tale than his brother was willing to share. He stooped down and gathered the little one into a hug, extracting the brush from the smaller fingers and placing a hand on the back of his head. He could feel Findecáno relax against him, and heard a soft sigh signalling the release of tension. Slowly, he pulled away, arms outstretched and clasped upon the child´s shoulders. He looked warmly into his brothers eyes, orbs of bluest skies locking with those of intense green of the canopy above. He was relieved to see them soften and regain their lively glow. 

As Legolas stood, he placed his hands upon the waist of his beloved brother and lifted him astride his favoured chestnut mare as effortlessly as had he been but a babe. At Findecáno´s confused look, he merely flashed his white teeth in a dazzling grin and turned.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Legolas asked the twins in an amused tone.

From where they were standing Findecáno could see Elladan and Elrohir exchange pleased glances, before they also turned their backs and set off towards their own mounts.

“Tolo.” At the barely heard request of his rider, Nadhoron stepped forwards and followed in his wake as he left the stable, prancing in his eagerness.

Realising he was expected to follow, Findecáno gently signalled his mount to move off and left the stable behind. He saw that the two lords were already waiting patiently atop their own black steeds, and watched as his brother gracefully leapt astride the palomino as effortlessly as he had swung Findecáno onto his own mount. 

“Shall we?” Legolas turned his horse towards his brother silently, with no need of bridle, nor bit, nor saddle, as was the Elven way. 

With that, the flaxen haired Elf set off. His companions moved wordlessly after him, and the four road in comfortable union away from the stables and the palace, and into the woods. Legolas slowed just enough to allow his younger brother to draw level, and Elladan and Elrohir rode amiably behind them. The conversation flowed easily, and soon Findecáno felt his spirits lifted and forgot his previous unease. 

The horses wandered happily, sometimes walking, sometimes prancing in excitement, other times cantering evenly across the soft carpet of green beneath them. Laughter filled the air, and after riding thusly for a couple of hours the companions decided to stop near the river and allow their mounts to take some rest, though it was hardly needed. 

The horses snorted gently, lowering their heads almost immediately to crop the greenery under foot. Their riders paid little attention, confident in the loyalty of Elven horses and assured that, though they may wander as far as the river to quench their thirst, they would go no further, and return when needed. 

“Come, little brother, and let us fill that empty belly of yours!”

Findecáno flashed a wonderous smile, matching that of his elder silbling. As they set off, he looked back to the Imladrin pair who showed no signs of following.

“Dan, Roh, aren’t you coming?” 

The twins stifled their smirks; though the young prince no longer called them by the affectionate names of ´Lladan and ´Rohir, having outgrown such a phase in the lapse of years between visits, he had not entirely abandoned the ways of his childhood, and clung to the familiarity of using pet names thusly. 

“Certainly, however we wish only to give you a head start.” Elrohir assured tenderly.

“Aye, else your little silvan legs will soon fall behind.” Elladan continued, teasing and comforting. 

“I am much grown since last you visited, and could beat both of you in a tree climbing contest!” Came the confident reply.

“I hardly doubt it, though that would not be a fair contest, surely. It is well known that woodelves have no rivals in the art of tree climbing!” Elladan, along with his brother, had now drawn level with the woodelves.

Legolas took the lead, as the only member to know the forest well. He lead them quickly to bushes filled with succulent berries, while the twins searched for edible fungi and other such plants. Findecáno listened carefully as they explained how to differentiate what was fit to eat from the poisonous variety, eyes wide with enjoyment and head nodding to show understanding.

The peace was suddenly broken by a pained bleat in the distance. The three eldest locked eyes with one another: they did not expect danger this close to the realm of Thranduil, but would take no chances. 

“Climb that tree. Do not come down for anyone you do not know.” Legolas gave the order to his startled brother, swiftly pulling his white knife from his boot as he did so. His tone had changed. He spoke not as a sibling, but as a warrior giving a command. And as such would brook no response.

Findecáno looked to protest, but seeing the hard set of blue eyes thought otherwise. Startled, he climbed the tree as he had been bid. Once secure above, he bit his lip anxiously as he watched the three familiar forms receed into the trees. An unease stirred in his stomach, and his hunger was replaced with an unaccustumed feeling: dread.

Legolas took the lead once more, his steps light even for those of the Firstborn, making not a single sound to betray his approach. Elladan and Elrohir, though more experienced and older, deferred to his superior knowledge of their surroundings. With barely a glance, they assigned a tactical position. Elladan covered the eastern front while Elrohir took the west, and so they separated ever so slightly. 

As they approached, Legolas held up his hand in signal to stop. His keen eyesight penetrated the mass of trees beyond, and he spotted a deer ahead. Its fur was dyed crimson with blood, and the flesh was parted beneath. The companions knew that it would not survive. With a shake of the head, Legolas cursed under his breath: he had not brought his bow with him to ease the animals suffering. He looked towards his friends to form a plan, when there was a sudden snapping noise behind the deer. 

All three became deadly still, and reached out with their senses. But too late, for the deer had turned and bolted towards the river. They began their persuit, and were gripped with a terror when they heard the cries of an elf child.

“Findecáno!”

Legolas tore thoughtlessly through the trees, leapt tirelessly over root and bush, running as fast as his legs could carry him towards his helpless brother. His face was drawn with concern, his eyes determined and his pale hair streamed behind him. He could sense Elladan and Elrohir running behind him, felt their determination and worry mingle with his own and he felt his untamed heart beat with so wild and great a passion that he could hear it in his ears.

The short distance seemed endless. Time seemed to slow. Legolas gripped his knife with a greater intensity, was aware of the pain and tingling sensation in his hand, but felt it not. An unease took root in his stomach and nausea emanated throughout his body, ripples of fear coursed through his veins and his blood seemed to run cold with fear. But he paid no heed, pushed aside all but the need to protect his brother and swallowed the very panic that sought to master him.

They returned to the site where they had left their charge, but could not feel his presence among the welcoming trees. Legolas dashed frantically past the oak that should have housed his brother, never slowing his pace, following his heart rather than reason. He sped towards the river, hoping against hope that he was wrong, unmindful of the silent prayers he offered up to the Valar and Eru himself. But he had not erred, nor been lead astray, and as his eyes swept the scene before him he felt a chill run up his spine. He saw the hair as brown as earth, the limbs as pale as his own alabastar skin, reaching desperately, fighting to stay afloat. And then he was gone, dragged beneath the current. 

 

Glossary:

Eryn Galen – Green wood  
Lothron – May (Sindarin)  
Tolo – Come (Sindarin)


	10. Alliance 4: Hanar Nîn

T.A. 240, Outskirts of Eryn Galen, Lothron.

Legolas felt his blood turn to ice within his veins, his heart constrict. He paused just a moment as he saw the familiar brown head slip under the water, and then he sprang into action. Bounding forwards, he was vaguely aware of the twins at his side, racing towards the river with the same frantic pace. His fear leant him strength and speed, and he had the good sense to at least discard his knife before diving head first into the strong current. 

It was cold, even to his elven senses. He pushed down the shock of it, and coming to the surface took a greedy gulp of air. His head snapped this way and that, craning his neck for any sign of his brother. He allowed the current to take him, continuing his frantic search, conscious only of the need to find Findecáno. Despite his strength, the body of water moved viciously around him, the deceptively idyllic tributary that he had enjoyed so often during infancy now turned against him. He was pushed and pulled with little control over the general direction, and by sure force of will alone managed to maintain his head above the water.

“Elrohir, no!”

The younger twin had removed both his boots, cast aside his weapons, and was preparing to follow their flaxen haired friend into the chill waters when he felt his arm grasped and held. He was wheeled around by the force of the intermission, and stared heatedly into the concerned eyes of his twin. 

“We must help them!” It was the first time Elrohir had raised his voice to his beloved brother.

“That we must.” Elladan replied, his determination was mirrored in the steadfast stare that met his own, unyielding.

“We will follow them on foot.” Elladan tilted his chin hastily towards the riverbank. “Legolas will need our aid. Not in the waters, but on land.”

Elrohir quickly followed the stare, and nodded his consent. There was no time to waste, and both set to their task in silence, tracking the path of their fair companion while devoting their keen eyes to the search of the darker haired elfling.

Covering the ground rapidly, the Peredhil brethren once more split into strategic positions. Eyes of granite scanned the tumultuous waters insistently; seeking a hint of earth coloured locks; a pointed ear; a delicate hand reaching for salvation. Elladan was desperate for any sign, and unrelenting in his charge. He had good reason to stay upon dry land, and knew that he had not erred in his decision. 

Legolas narrowly avoided a great rock in the path he was swept, had to maneuver awkwardly to escape a second but was not fortunate enough to miss the third. It cost him dearly, and as he felt his body thrown cruelly against the hard stone he felt the breath escape him. Losing focus briefly, he was sucked under by the strong current. His bruised ribs were agonising, as he was held down by the immense weight and pressure of the current. Long tendrils of fair hair formed a halo around his head, and for the second time that day seconds seemed to slow to minutes, minutes to hours. 

Elrohir, meanwhile, traced the path of their golden companion as he fought to stay afloat. He called in useless warning as he saw Legolas strike upon the rock, aware that he would likely not hear in time but unable to restrain the primitive sound that escaped from his hoarse throat. And then the radiance was swallowed, submerged beneath the treacherous tide. He made no sound, but the cries echoed within his mind. Eyes as turbulent as the very water itself hunted the young warrior, the gaze so intense that the water would have turned to steam were a glare but enough. He hovered at the edge, prepared to follow his companion in a heartbeat were it required. 

Down at the bottom of the riverbed all was calm, and peaceful. There was no frantic splashing, no wind whipping his face. Just the tight embrace of the water. But Legolas knew he could not stay, could not give in. He most certainly would not abandon his brother. Drawing his feet below him, he pushed down and kicked up hard off the sandy floor below. Although the pressure remained, he fought with all his might to make his way to the surface once more. He saw the light above him, and knew that he would make it. Strong arms propelled him upwards, cutting through the water like oars. He felt the air on his face, and instinctively gasped and breathed heavily with sweet relief. Running his hand across his brow to wipe the water from his eyes, he began the frantic search once more. Time was running out.

Elrohir exhaled the breath he had been unconsciously holding, sending a silent prayer of gratitude to the Valar. It was far from over, but Legolas was not lost. Not yet.  
There was a shout from the shoreline, and Elrohir recognised the voice: Elladan. He looked swiftly over to the origin of the cry, and saw the figure point urgently towards a limp mass being carried by the waves. 

There was no movement. He could see, even amongst the turmoil and foam of the river that the body was face down. He closed his eyes briefly. It could not be so.  
Legolas heard a cry of despair, and in some deep part of his mind recognised it as his own. The archers arms tore through the water, strong legs urged him onwards and his trembling lips whispered desperate pleas between mouthfuls of water and lungfuls of air. He could feel his body protest its violent usage, bruised ribs ached with every stroke and he was growing weary against the current. He narrowed his eyes, ignored all discomfort, and willed himself forward. 

“Findecáno.”

“Don’t give up now.” 

“Almost there.”

“I am coming, little one.”

The words like a mantra. He repeated the same phrases, in different orders, blocking out all other thoughts. He would reach his brother in time. He had to. It was the only option. This grim determination swept through his body. He was getting closer. So near. Almost within touching distance….

And then he reached him. His strong arms enveloped the small body in a desperate embrace. He directed all of his energy into maintaining his brother above the water. And then he heard once more a cry from the shore.

“Legolas! The tree!” Elrohir tried desperately to gain his friend’s attention, was unsure whether the keen elven ears would hear him over the cachophony of the swell. He began to signal with his arms, pointing urgently to a tree that had fallen into the river. If Legolas could just reach the tree, he could lift his brother into Elrohir´s safe arms.  
Hearing the cry, and realising the meaning, Legolas felt a new hope flutter gently within his chest and take root. He tread water and allowed the current to lead him towards salvation, swallowed water as his head dipped below the waves and coughed and spluttered to rid his lungs of the cold invasion. But not once did he allow Findecáno to slip beneath the currents. 

“It is alright now, little one.” Legolas whispered softly into the cold, unhearing ear between mouthfuls of water. “I have you. Hold on for me now.” He was speaking as much to himself as to the charge who lay in his arms, motionless but for the pull of the current, trying to soothe his shattered nerves.

Finally they reached the gnarled trunk. As Legolas tried to find a hold, whithered and decayed parts of the tree splintered off in his hand. He dug in with his nails, and with his other arm hoisted the limp body into Elrohir´s waiting arms. No sooner had he done so, than he saw the younger twin rapidly withdraw, running lightly along the frail bark and laying the elfling down upon the shore, confident in his friend’s ability to return to shore himself now that he had been relieved of Findecáno. 

Elladan was by his side in an instant, taking the lifeless wrist between his fingers to check for a pulse while his brother lifted the chin and checked the airway. Elrohir must have been satisfied that there was no blockage, for he quickly sealed his mouth over that of the young elf and breathed life in to the unresponsive lungs. He waited briefly with tormented eyes. There was nothing. He quickly began compressing the unbreathing chest with frightening vigor. Worry was etched upon the smooth brows. 

Legolas was by their side a moment later, his brotherly concern battling with his considerations to leave the twins unhindered in their ministrations. He knelt upon the damp earth, and began stroking Findecáno´s brow lovingly. He was aware that, every now and again, Elrohir stopped the compressions to puff a breath into the water-filled lungs, and press his ear to the mouth for any signs of breathing. As he had done beforehand. He knew there must be a set frequency between the number of compressions and breaths, but he could not focus enough to count. He noticed the desperation written across every line of Elrohir´s face, the strain in his usually fluid movements. He noted, also, the desolate brimming in Elladan’s eyes, the slump of his usually proud shoulders. 

Legolas felt helpless. Never before had anything been of such great importance, nor so far from his control. He would rather face a horde of orcs alone than look upon the vacant stillness of his brother’s face for a moment longer. The sunlight streamed through the canopy above, uncaring of the woes of the inhabitants nor the darkness of their situation. The very sounds of the forrest seemed to mock them, the wind whispering idly through the trees and the rustle of the leaves disturbed their own silence. The idyllic scene was a stark contrast to the storm of emotions raging through flesh and bone. 

But the trees themselves recognised the suffering in the woodland elf, and the animals felt the change. There was no snap of twig under hoof, no rummaging through shrubbery, no birdsong. The very trees seemed to grow still, and one would have thought them holding bated breath were they able. Thranduil’s people had always been good to the forrest they called home, had never hunted more than was necessary to survive nor felled too many trees. Therefore it seemed pained by the occurences, protective of the young elf lying unmoving within its embrace.

The twins mumbled soft words to one another, not meant for Legolas’ ears. Elrohir never took his eyes from the elfling before him, delivering his care with an unwavering single-mindedness all the while conversing with his brother. Elladan dipped his head, pressed the back of his hand against the expressionless forehead. He said nothing, but his lips thinned and his brow furrowed ever so slightly. It would be unnoticeable, if not for the closeness between the companions.

A look was exchanged between the Peredhil. That was the moment Legolas felt his heart shatter. Tears that he had held at bay now sprung unheeded to his wide eyes, the breath caught in his throat and choked down the bile that rose unbidden. 

“No.”

It was a denial. It could not be. Legolas fixed his watery gaze upon the beloved form before him, took in every detail. The usually bright and shining hair was almost black against the white skin, the eyelids closed, mouth parted slightly as if in repose. So innocent. So pure. So young. Findecáno. His Findecáno.

“No!”

The cry echoed throughout the surrounding area, and faroff birds scattered at the unexpected noise.

“Get a hold of yourself.” Elladan grasped Legolas firmly by the shoulder, shook him slightly. 

“We will do everything that we can.”

But it was no use.

“Elladan.”

His twin’s unsaid plea was answered. Releasing his grasp on the woodland prince, he took over Elrohir’s ministrations.

“Legolas.” 

Elrohir was soft, but commanding. Broken eyes looked up from Findecáno´s marble face and locked upon the resolute grey ones. Such pain! Such raw, unending pain did he see within those depths that he near shuddered at such ferocity of feeling. Legolas held the compassionate gaze for a moment, probing the molten depths and, though the same sadness was reflected in those orbs, he gleaned also the indomitable will and resolution. He struggled to steady himself, seeming to draw some of the strength that Elrohir so willingly offered.

“We will not give up.” 

Elrohir, too, grasped the woodland prince affectionately by the shoulder, squeezing slightly. It was too much. Legolas could not fall apart now, not while his brother still needed him. He fought to still a trembling lower lip, biting down upon the renegade flesh, and nodded his thanks.

It struck Elrohir then how young and innocent he looked. Golden hair clinging to his skin in wet tendrils, eyes of sky blue shimmering with barely controlled emotion. He seemed illusory. Not the strong, capable young elf he knew him to be. Ethereal almost. 

Elrohir blinked to rid himself of the image. Now was hardly the time. Instead he looked once more upon the pale form before them. There was still no response, and his body was cooling rapidly. He shrugged out of his own tunic hurriedly, throwing it over Findecáno. He would be better out of his wet clothes, he thought, but dared not disturb or interrupt the compressions. 

He looked upon his twin, unfaltering in his care. He could see, too, the anguish lurking within those eyes so similar to his own. He could feel the energy Elladan poured into his healing, saw the tight line of his jaw and the determined press of his shoulders. Elladan was distraught, but he would not give up easily.

Finally his gaze fell upon the young elf before them all. So still. So unnatural. The expressionless mouth was so at odds with the encandescent smile that usually turned his lips upwards, revealing white teeth, in mischief and delight. The pallor of his skin replaced the usually bright cheeks, glowing with exertion. He was relieved, at least, that his eyes were closed. He could not have borne to look upon them, unseeing and dull; the purity and love of life that usually emanated from them extinguished by the currents. 

Elrohir looked once more upon Legolas, and knew that his thoughts followed more or less the same track. The calloused hand accustomed to bow and knife fell gently upon his brother’s brow, stroking and caressing the beautiful face. He could see the lips move, though the words whispered were inaudible: heard only by the wind and carried on the breeze towards western shores, where he hoped the Valar would hear his prayers. 

Legolas could not tear his eyes away from his infant brother. He lovingly attempted to soothe him, and hoped that somewhere Findecáno was aware of his presence. He scattered devoted kisses upon the unmoving brow, cheeks and eyelids. He grasped a limp hand at his side and held it firmly within his own, continuing the caress with his thumb across the pale flesh.

And still Findecáno did not move. 

The three companions seemed trapped in their own despair. Unwilling to halt their desperate attentions, however bleak the outcome. 

Time elapsed and elongated. How long it had been since they had pulled the fragile form from the water none of them knew. The rhythm of the compressions followed that of their anxious hearts, the puffs of air broke the mourning quiet that had descended upon the forrest. The sunlight that dappled the ground seemed to retreat, the shadows cast extended their menacing clutches and seemed to swallow the light. 

Legolas continued to stroke his brother’s forehead, no longer did he bother to restrain the salty tears that made their way down his elegant face, clinging to his strong jaw as though unwilling to drop, and finally landing upon the cold earth beneath. Though the Peredhil said naught, he knew that the passing of time took with it their hope, faster than the shadows descending upon them. Silently, he attempted to steel himself against the inevitable. He thought of his mother, of the unutterable grief of her passing. And knew that this was far worse. How often had he fallen into the past, been transported back by the familiar hue of hair and intensity of eye his brother possessed? How many times had he turned away from this beautiful face because of the bittersweet memories it conjured? Guilt rose deep within him and mingled with the sadness that saught to choke the very life from his breast at the thought that he had ignorantly squandered uncounted, unrestrained looks of sheer delight that he would give his very life to see again.

He thought of the excitement that had swept upon the youthful face just that very morning, mere hours earlier. He thought of the sweet temper, the trusting nature, the kind heart and inquisitive soul that his brother possessed. Of all that he was, and all that he could have been. He did not think that he could bare it, and closed his eyes momentarily. But he forced them open, forced them to look down upon the face that he loved so dearly. His hands, no longer idle, sought now to commit every contour, every rise and fall to memory; joining the studious eyes that would immortalise the perfect features. He ran his fingers through the wet hair, usually so soft and radiant he felt it now knot slightly within his grasp, unnatural in its coarseness.

He tried to hold onto the memory of that same hopeful morning, but could not staunch the sadness that ebbed into his very heart and and marred what had started as such a perfect day. 

Of a sudden, their silence was broken by a deep and painful cough. The once still body convulsed, attempting to rid itself of the water. Elladan quickly rolled Findecáno onto his side, rubbing his back. A long, laboured gasp for air proceeded the coughing, and the three companions exchanged looks of such amazed relief as they allowed the shocked tears to fall upon their fair cheeks. 

Green eyes opened in panic, staring startled at the canopy above him. He whipped his head sideways, seeking the comforting presence of his older brother. Legolas was upon him in an instant, gathering him up in his arms as gently as he would a babe, and kissing his forehead with renewed vigor. He gladly accepted the reassurance offered, and felt his body tremble in the strong hold. He was confused. The last he had seen had been the blue of the river, the last he had felt were the unrelenting waves pushing him under, the unwelcome water scalding his throat as he gasped for the absent air. And then darkness.

Legolas felt the body tremble within his grasp, and wordlessly stripped him of his wet clothes. He saw that the twins had done the same themselves, and took their dry clothes from outstretched hands to wrap around his shivering charge. He sought to balm Findecáno´s fragile soul with his own loving devotion, looking incredulously into the eyes he thought closed to him until the ending of the world. 

“Legolas….”

It was no more than a whisper. But to the three who had almost lost hope that soft utterance was more than their aching hearts could have hoped for.

“Shhh, hanar nîn. You are safe.”

Findecáno visibly relaxed having heard his brother’s assurance. His body lost some of the tension, and he allowed himself to sink deeper into Legolas’ grasp. He felt comforted beyong measure by the warm embrace in which he found himself ensconced, despite the chill that seemed to emenate from his very bones. He felt wetness upon his cheek, not just from the river. He knew that the light drops upon his face were the tears of his brother, mingling with his own. 

The brethren sat close by, unclothed, and allowed their own tears to streak their noble faces. Findecáno was dear to them indeed, and the devestation that they had seen in Legolas´ eyes had been so raw, so profound and inconsolable that lesser beings would have shied from such intensity of feeling. As it was, they had been barely able to offer the smallest of succor and continue their healing efforts. But now that the terror had passed, they dared not interrupt so tender a moment, and instead sat patiently by. 

“You are safe, hanar nîn.” Legolas repeated. 

“You are safe.”

oOo

Glossary: 

Eryn Galen – Green wood  
Lothron – May (Sindarin)  
Hanar Nîn – My brother (Sindarin)


	11. Alliance 5: The worst has passed

A.N: Sorry that this chapter took so long to update! I have had an absolutely crazy Schedule this past month and haven’t had time to put pen to paper (or hand to keyboard). But I sincerely hope that this latest chapter was worth the wait!  
Also, a heart felt thank you to those of you who left kudos! I really appreciate it, and would also love some reviews to let me know what you think of the story so far!  
Without further ado, enjoy!

 

oOo

T.A 240, Eryn Galen, Lothron.

Thranduil sat in silence upon the sumptuous wooden chair in his office, his elegant hand tracing the rim of his glass in what appeared to be idle movements. He stared intensly at the liquid within; his eyebrows knotted together in frustration, mouth downturned in disapproval. Yet he would not allow the proud line of his shoulders to slump, and held his regal head high with pride. 

The setting sun cast its final rays through the open windows; a blaze of burnt orange and crimson that danced upon the head of the golden King of the woodland realm so that his hair seemed to glow in splendour as a glorious mane. The usually cool alabaster of his skin seemed instead to thaw, and the distant, cold eyes almost melted. 

Thus it had always been with Órelindë. Without trying she had been able to penetrate his defenses, ground him in the present when his thoughts wandered distantly. As they did now. He allowed them to stray, allowed himself to sink into the past. Allowed himself a brief moment of respite that he would usually deny himself. And he thought of his late spouse. He remembered the luxurious feel of her burnished hair between his fingers; could almost smell the lavender. He remembered the musicality of her laugh; the daring green eyes so full of mirth that saw into his very soul. He could almost feel her still beside him, and closed his eyes as he clung to the memory. Until the moment passed and he was once more in his office, not with his beloved Órelindë but with Elrond Half-Elven. 

The lore-master did not intrude upon Thranduil’s reflections, did not ask of the momentary softening of his features nor comment upon the sudden tightening of the King’s hand upon the arm of the chair as he came back to himself. Instead he waited patiently, taking a small draught of the beverage before him. Sat before Thranduil in a position not unlike the King´s, Elrond was also deep in thought. 

Their meetings had been terse to say the least; progress had been slow and jilted and, despite his best efforts, their alliance was no more certain than it had been upon their arrival. While their immortality allowed them the leisure of lengthy discussions and slow considerations, Elrond could feel that the mercucial woodland realm was much more volatile. Were they to leave ere a strong allegiance had been formed, he doubted they would be welcomed back a second time to persue negociations. It all rested upon this visit. 

“May we speak openly, King Thranduil?”

The golden haired ruler stirred at the somewhat unexpected petition. Locking eyes with the Peredhel, he inclined his head slowly to convey his consent.

“You do not trust us.” Elrond raised his hand in signal that he did not wish to be interrupted, forestalling any objections that may have been raised.

“You do not trust us.” - He repeated, a gentle smile upon his face to show that there was no malice in his words. – “Let us be honest with one another. Each proposal I put forward is swiftly dismissed upon the least significant of grounds. I wish only to know why.”

Elrond reached out with his gaze, holding that of Thranduil. He crossed his legs and leaned back patiently in his chair, waiting, knotting his fings together upon his lap. This time he would not be ignored or side stepped, he wished for answers. 

Sitting back in his chair, Thranduil took in the image before him. Though not as tall as he, the Noldo was slightly broader due to his human heritage. Pride was etched into the ageless face, the authority mingling with the serenity, kindness and wisdom he was famed for. 

“It is nothing personal, Lord Elrond. In this Kingdom trust is earned, and we err on the side of caution.” Came the reply.

“I see.” Elrond smiled. “And what would you have us do to earn this trust?”

“I beg your pardon?” Thranduil questioned, his eyes becoming frosty once more. 

“What would you have us do? Would you have us embark upon a quest?” The tone of Elrond was light and he inclined his head slightly to the side, as though discussing something of little import.

“A quest? To what would that serve?” Thranduil’s tone became harsher.

“You said that your trust must be earned, and I would hope to earn it.” Elrond replied swiftly. “Perhaps we may go in search of the last Silmaril? That we may present it to you in exchange for an alliance as Beren was once charged.”*

Clasping the arm of his chair with such intensity that his knuckles turned white, Thranduil made no other outward sign to the ire that rose steadily within his chest. 

“You speak of foolishness and mock our caution.” The words were spoken in a low tone, and Thranduil’s eyes seemed to blaze.

“I do not seek to mock you, and ask your pardon for any offense you feel.” Elrond bowed his head. “But I do, indeed, speak of foolishness.” He continued. 

“We agreed to speak openly. The reason for your mistrust stems not from caution or wisdom, and anything that I may do will, I fear, be insufficient to earn your trust. This wariness does not stem from the present, but from the sins of our forebearers.” Elrond paused to allow his words to take effect, locking eyes once more with the King.

“You blame Gil-Galad for the death of your father, and by extension, you blame me.” Elrond’s words were spoken softly, and once more he paused as his words were absorbed.

The silence hung between the two, heavy it seemed to cast a shadow over the dying blaze of the setting sun. Thranduil’s features were drawn with barely contained rage, his eyes alight with a cold, indigo fire and mouth drawn.

“You dare to speak of such matters.” Thranduil whispered, his eyes never leaving those of the lore-master before him.

“You dare to enter into our Kingdom as a guest, to open old wounds and spout new accusations?” The King raised his voice, incredulous.

“I do not seek to cause you any harm, Oropherion, nor to make idle accusations.” Elrond maintained his calm demeanor.

“Yet that is exactly what you have done!” Thranduil hissed, leaping from his chair in one agile movement to stand beside the window, staring without. 

Elrond remained still, aware of the pain he had inflicted. He allowed Thranduil time, once more, to process his words. He made no move to comfort the King, knowing that the other’s pride would reject any such efforts. Instead he studied the figure before him, noted the strong shoulders that refused to bow under such painful memories as must have been taking hold of Thranduil. 

The minutes passed. Thranduil saw before him the empty throne his father once sat upon, the black adornments that bedecked the throne room in mourning.He remembered seeing the standard of his father, not lifted high in the wind as it should have been, flapping and crackling in the breeze as a sign of hope and pride. He remembered it as he last saw it. Trodden into the dirt, bespattered with crimson liquid, soaked in it. He closed his eyes.

oOo

“Legolas, you cannot ride with him!” Elladan tried unsuccessfully to pursuade his friend to give up his grip on Findecáno. “Look at you! You can barely stand upright.” 

Legolas grimaced as he was reminded of his bruised ribs, but he would not relinquish his hold upon the young elfling. Gritting his teeth, he whistled once more wondering where his horse had wandered that he had not returned yet.

“Elrohir, talk some sense into him!” Elladan turned to his younger sibling, exasperated, gripping him by the shoulders. 

Looking into his brothers eyes, Elrohir nodded his consent, covering the hand upon his shoulder with his own in a show of affection. The stormy grey eyes cooled, and he half-smiled reassuringly at Elladan. 

“Find the horses, tôr nín, I will speak with our friend.”

With that, Elrohir felt one last reassuring grip upon his shoulder before Elladan was gone. He turned his attention towards their injured comrade. Though strong and resilient, the injury he had suffered, exacerbated by the current, was taking its toll. He felt a sense of pride in his friend as he admired the head held high and shoulders set square despite the discomfort he obviously felt. He noted, also, the way that Findecáno clung desperately to his brother, unsettled by the experience.

He felt a shudder pass through his as he thought on it. Findecáno was not the only one troubled by what had almost come to pass. It had been too close for any of them to feel any sense of comfort as yet, least of all the poor elfling. 

“My friend, let me help you.” Elrohir strode towards Legolas, aware of the instantaneous stiffening of his shoulders.

“I told Elladan, I am fine.” The usually sweet tempered elf replied short temperedly, holding his brother closer to him.

“I merely wished to aid you with your possessions, or perhaps you are loath to relinquish them also?” Elrohir replied calmly, allowing a small smile to break upon his lips.

Legolas sighed and turned his head towards the younger twin. He studied Elrohir for a moment, allowing a small smile of gratitude to grace his features briefly before nodding his consent.

“Thank you, Elrohir. Forgive me, I….” Legolas began.

“There is no need, my friend.” Elrohir kindly interjected before stooping to collect the various ítems. 

“Come, why not rest awhile as we await Elladan’s return?” Elrohir softly suggested, himself dropping gracefully down to sit upon the green floor of the forrest.

“I would rather we make to leave as soon as possible.” Legolas looked tired, but he stood determined.

“We can go nowhere without the horses. Save your strength for the ride back, meldir.” Elrohir saw the indecision in his friend’s face give way to acceptance, and watched with satisfaction as he sat down less elegantly than was his wont.

“Lift up your shirt.” Legolas looked puzzled by Elrohir’s words and raised one eyebrow.

“I wish to examine your ribs. Please, lift up your shirt.” Elrohir was already by his friends side, broking no protest. 

The golden haired elf sighed, and lifting a slumbering Findecáno gently to rest the darkling head upon his outstretched legs, did as he was bid. Elrohir reached out tenderly to gently stroke his hand over the purple flesh, noticing the sharp intake of breath this slightest of movements portended. 

“I am sorry.” Elrohir apologised, but continued to examine the area. Legolas sucked in his breath as he awaited the pain, focusing upon Elrohir’s face. He saw the mask of concentration that crept across the Peredhel´s face, so at odds with the cheerful expression he had become used to seeing. He studied the grey eyes, the elegant nose, the lips parted slightly as he carried out his examination. He became so focused upon his own examination that he barely noticed the discomfort caused by his battered ribs. This was a different side to Elrohir. He had seen his skills as a warrior and was accostomed to the merriment afforded his friends. Yet it seemed he had also inherited his father’s touch as a healer, as had Elladan. He wondered that he had not seen it before: the quiet compassion, the relentlessness, the patience, the calm in the face of overwhelming odds. 

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard the quiet hoof falls of their four legged companions. He looked up, and could see Elladan return with the four horses. He smiled as Nodhoron whinnied and tossed his head, while Coleth broke into a canter, concerned for her fallen rider. 

Findecáno awoke to the sound, and lifted his hand to stroke the chestnut nose of his mare affectionately as she obligingly dipped her head to meet him. As she gently nudged his hand, Findecáno allowed a small smile to creep across his face. 

“Are you ready?” Elladan asked Legolas gently, holding out his hand in an offering of help.

Legolas nodded his head, smiling sheepishly as he recalled his dismissive behaviour towards Elladan earlier, and accepted the hand outstretched to pull himself to his feet, his other arm secured possessively around his brother’s fragile frame. A small, pained moan escaped his lips as he moved.

Elladan stared intently at the pained elf before him, pinching his lips together in disapproval. This time, however, he held his tongue. With such a stubborn willed Thranduilion before him, biding his time may be the easier route to take, he thought to himself.

Said stubborn elf had taken it upon himself to approach Nodhoron, stroking the palomino gently upon the neck and whispering soothingly into receptive ears. Understanding Legolas´request, the stallion gracefully bowed first his head, continuing to his knees so as to allow the injured elf to mount with ease. 

A grateful smile broke out upon the porcelain face, as he firmly gripped the whithers with one hand and with the other laid Findecáno delicately upon the steed´s back, preparing to follow himself. 

A hand upon his arm forestalled him. “Meldir.” Legolas turned to see Elladan, concern and understanding etched upon his features. “You are injured. Allow us to help you with Findecáno.”

The flaxen haired elf´s immediate reaction was to deny the accusation, to refuse his offer. He wished to hold his brother to him, to feel the reassuring rhythm of his still beating heart, the relief of every breath of life that he took. He continued to stare at Elladan, knowing that he spoke not only as a healer, but as one of his closest and most trusted friends. He spoke the truth. 

Seeming to sense the doubt crossing the woodelf´s mind, Elrohir appeared at his brothers side. Mirroring the same look of unease that his twin wore, Legolas thought how alike they looked in this moment; how easy it must be for someone unfamiliar with the brethren to confuse them. 

He tore his eyes away from the pair to look down into the green orbs of his younger brother. They returned the gaze wearily, half closed and bleary, far from the usually bright and unsurpressable joy that shone from them. 

Stroking his brother’s cheek gently, Legolas once more nodded his consent. He was in no fit state to support him, it would be selfish to insist on riding with him just to balm his own tense nerves. 

“Be strong, beren nín, the worst has passed.” Legolas planted a kiss upon the smooth forehead of Findecáno, breathing in the smell of him and offering up silent thanks yet again that he had not been taken from him. And with one more adoring look, he silently handed the young elfling over to Elladan´s waiting arms. 

The obsidian-maned companion smiled compassionately down upon Thranduil’s youngest, hoping to offer some comfort. Although he could see the green eyes dim somewhat at having being taken from his brother, he watched with admiration as the young elf managed to turn the corners of his mouth at the familiar face above him. Despite all that he had been through, the innocence and purity of so fair a spirit had not been taken.

Elladan held him close in his embrace, stroking his hair in the same manner he had seen Legolas use just moments earlier. Locking eyes with Elrohir, he watched as his younger twin effortlessly mounted his steed, and stretched out his welcoming arms to take the precious load into his care. With similar tenderness, he lifted up Findecáno to meet his brother, stepping back to assure that Legolas had been able to mount himself before following suite. 

With the three mounted and ready, Findecáno safely encircled within Elrohir’s strong lock, and Coleth silently nudging her fallen rider gently, Elladan signalled to his horse to move forward and begin the journey home. 

oOo

“Leave me.” Thranduil did not turn away from the window, nor face Elrond as he uttered the words softly. 

“Leave me!” Thranduil roared through clenched teeth, turning to face the Half-Elf.

Elrond looked taken aback, his shock at so primitive a reaction from the ElvenKing momentarily breaking through his vaneer of calm and reserve. Given the fresh hurt that emenated from Thranduil´s eyes and unusual slumping of the proud shoulders, Elrond considered acquiescing to his request. It had never been his intension to cause any pain or suffering, and as a healer he did all he could to avoid inflicting such pain. But the wisdom of his years and the counsel of his heart told him that if progress were to be made, the wounds would have to be opened in order to heal properly. And so he took a deep breath, and stepped toward the furious King.

Thranduil stared in consternation as the Elvenlord slowly reached out his hands in a signal of peace, bowing his head slightly in penetance. His eyes dulled; his fury subsided a small degree and, taking a deep breath, he turned his head away once more toward the window. 

And so they stood, unmoving, for the longest time. Thranduil, eyes darkened and mouth grim, contiuned to stare out towards the forrest beyond. Lost once more in memories that had been shut away for years uncounted, festering in the corners of his mind. His father´s death plagued him still, and the resentment he felt towards those he held responsible seemed to twist and curl around his neck; like smoke that seeps, unbidden, to suffocate.

Once more Lord Elrond held his peace, and waited. He made no sound, no movement. He stood perfectly still: pacient and wise as the stream that wanders and deviates along its course, breaking it only to avoid objections. But running true, never the less, to meet the final destination and join joyfully with the sea. Now was one such moment. He may need to pause momentarily, bend ever so slightly from his intended course; but he knew that he would eventually find his way back to an alliance.

Eventually Thranduil gathered his strength, and slowly but firmly closed the door to the tumultuous past that seemed poised to threaten the present. He shook his head to rid himself of the melancholic thoughts that would overtake him if given free reign, and turned again to face the problem at hand. 

“You are right, son of Eärendil. I do hold you responsable.” The admission was starkly said, and hung in the air between the two. 

For once, Elrond did not know how to reply. He was aware that a great step had been taken in convincing the King of the woodland realm to admit his true feelings, but he was not sure as of yet as to the cost. Thranduil was a selfless ruler, and would never willingly allow his personal feelings to infringe upon what was best for his Kingdom. Of that Elrond was sure. But did he see this alliance as the best option for his Kingdom? He still seemed unconvinced, and mayhap this unfortunate turn of events would lead him to consider the opinion of his chief advisor Iphannor. What then? With the majority of his own folk seemingly taking heed of the malicious gossip perpetrated by Oropher’s old advisor, would this animosity prove the fatal blow to any hopes of an alliance?

“Forgive me, Lord Elrond. The day is nearly spent, and I am afraid that I feel the same.” Thranduil began, dismissing the Lord of Rivindell. “You are welcome to take your leave.”

The dark haired Lord regained his mask of composure, bowing in respect. “As you wish, King Thranduil.”

With that, he turned towards the door. He was just turning the handle when a young elf came bursting through: heavy breathing, eyes wide with consternation, all decorum and manners forgotten.

“Begging your pardon, Your Majesty.” The young elf began nervously, bowing low as the words tripped over themselves in their haste to leave his mouth. 

Thranduil looked tiredly at the dishevelled youth, motioning with his fingers that he rise.

“It’s Findecáno. There’s been an accident. He’s on his way to the palace now, Your Grace.”

oOo

Glossary:

tôr nín – Brother (Sindarin)  
Meldir – Friend (Noldorin)  
beren nín – my bold one (Sindarin)

A.N: *The story of Beren and Lúthien is cited, wherein the mortal Beren falls in love with Lúthien; the daughter of Melian the Maia and King Elu Thingol, ruler of Doriath. Upon asking her father for her hand in marriage, he is presented with the quest of stealing a Silmaril from Morgoth and bringing it to King Thingol in return for his daughter´s hand, believing as he did that Beren could not possibly succeed and would, therefore, never be able to claim his daughter as wife. It is a story Lord Elrond would know well, as Beren and Lúthien were his ancestors.


End file.
